Distorted Desires
by spatsypatty
Summary: AFter HTK. Blackveil's tainted magic is increasing in power and reach. When it gains a traitorous foothold in Sacor City's castle, Zachary is whisked away to safety by our favorite Rider.
1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place between HKT and **_**Blackveil**_**. The idea of the Black Shields turning on Zachary came to me one night and this is the result.** **I have no idea how long it is going to be, but I'm hoping it will be done before **_**Blackveil **_**comes out. **

**Everything belongs to Kristen Britain, save for a handful of OCs, which are mine. **

**...**

He was dreaming. That was the only place this would make sense.

He stared through sleep-fogged eyes at Karigan's face, hovering perilously near to his own. One of her hands clasped his mouth shut, the other held a sword to her lips in a sort of macabre shushing motion.

He blinked. Was it a dream? She wore full Rider gear, from the square of plaid beneath her brooch to the saber sheath at her waist. In his dreams, she never wore anything like that. In fact, she rarely even—

She lifted her hand off his jaw and retrieved something at her feet. "Quickly," she hissed, "Change. You're not safe here."

He gazed blearily at the pile of clothes she thrust at him. "What…?" he mumbled.

Her sword slipped into its sheath. "Majesty! Now!"

At her tone, adrenaline poured into his veins and he stumbled out of his bed in a tangle of sheets and nightclothes and bed canopy. As he dressed in the dark, he kept one eye on Karigan, who pressed her ear against the door, listening.

"What is it?" he whispered, tugging the white shirt over his head. These weren't his clothes. He noted gold embroidery on the sleeve: Green Rider.

She turned as he was tucking in his shirttails. "No time. Come with me." Inexplicably, she snapped the canopy shut around his bed and tugged him toward the corner of the room, where cold drafts lingered outside a rectangle of darkness. The Paramour Passage, he fondly called it. It was supposed to be secret.

"How did you know about—"

"Shhh!"

They slipped into the secret hallway just as the regular doors clicked and opened. Together, he and Karigan pushed the false wall, but he stopped her with a motion before it was all the way shut. She frowned at him, but despite her urgency, his curiosity couldn't be ignored.

Apparently, hers couldn't either, and she tucked herself below him and peered into his dark bedroom.

Torchlight from the hallway illuminated the three—no, five—eight—_ten_ black figures as they stepped silently around his canopied bed. He stiffened and watched through startled eyes as they drew their swords. Black bands ornamented the silver blades. Karigan released a trembling breath.

Zachary's eyes widened as his Black Shields raised their swords and, as if in response to a silent command, plunged them through the canopy and deep into the mattress on which he had lain just moments before.


	2. Chapter 2

...

"What is happening?" His voice sounded shrill in his ears.

"I don't know," Karigan replied over her shoulder. "I wish I could tell you, but I don't know."

They skidded around a turn in the passage. "How did you know they were going to – come –" He fell into silent dismay. His Weapons, his devoted Shields. That many, traitors? "Impossible," he whispered. "Impossible." Had Fastion been among them?

"I will tell you everything I know as soon as we can stop. But now I need to get you out of here."

He focused on her braid, bouncing up and down on her back as she ran. This must be a dream. A nightmare, brought on by stress. The stress about the contract, the wall, Mornhavon, Blackveil, Estora's kidnapping. Stress brought on by...by the emotions raging in his heart. Or perhaps maybe a bad dinner? A rotten fruit wreaking havoc with his digestion?

Maybe he was dead. Oh gods. Maybe he was dead and this was some sort of punishment.

Karigan slowed and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. Her eyes squinted in the darkness. "I heard something," she told him, her voice barely making any sound. They waited.

"Who's there?"

The voice echoed and faded, unrecognizable. Karigan pushed Zachary back as warm lamplight bobbed into existence somewhere ahead of them. She gripped his arm and closed a hand over her brooch. "Keep still," she whispered as the lamplight faded into gray.

"I know someone is there. Identify yourself."

"Fastion," Zachary hissed toward where he remember her head being. In a moment, she released him and moved toward the light. He reached out to – what? Stop her? Keep her in the shadows as well? His hand dropped and he leaned against the stone wall, concentrating on quieting his ragged breathing.

"G'ladheon," Karigan called. Zachary thought he heard her voice crack. "Rider G'ladheon."

A pause, then the light bobbed nearer, faster. "Karigan! A pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?"

Zachary sighed, relieved, but a jerk of Karigan's hand and head kept him in the shadows. His heart stopped. She was wary of even this good friend. _Please no, _he thought, _please not him_.

The Weapon held his lantern up to peer at the Rider's face. "Why are you here, Karigan? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"The king, Fastion. Your Weapons just tried to kill him."

Something like surprise flashed across Fastion's features. "Tried? So he is alive?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?" Fastion looked past Karigan's head. "Is he here with you?"

Zachary pushed himself off the wall, stiffening, and felt his toe nudge something on the ground. "The king is safe," Karigan responded coldly.

Fastion dropped the lantern and took her by the shoulders. "Tell me where he is, Karigan."

She squirmed under his grip. "Let me go."

"You _must _tell me. If the others have betrayed him, then he needs protection. I can protect him."

Zachary moved his foot and heard the clacketing of a loose stone. He bent down.

"I said, let me – " Karigan broke off with a gasp as Fastion shook her violently.

"Damn it, Karigan, where is he?" he growled, his face twisted and ugly in the lamplight. "Tell me where he is!"

The stone was heavier than Zachary thought and he dropped it once. Fastion's head jerked up at the sound. "Is that him? Back there, behind you?"

Karigan forced away his arms and drew her saber. "Back away," she commanded, sinking into a fighting stance. "You are not yourself."

Fastion regarded her curiously. "Are you challenging me?"

"Traitor," she hissed.

Fastion's lip curled. "Fool." In an instant, his sword was in his hand and he lunged forward.

Zachary hurled the rock. It connected with Fastion's skull, sending a resounding _crack _down the hallway. The Weapon's head wrenched backwards and he toppled to the ground. Silent moments crept past, but he did not move. Karigan stared down at him, at the blood seeping beneath his hair, then raised bewildered, pained eyes to Zachary's equally bewildered, pained face.

"Down here! They won't be far!" Voices from behind.

Wordlessly, Zachary bolted past Karigan. He knew these passages better than she. Right, left, left again, right, down the stairs. He stopped and pulled a lever in the wall. Moonlight pooled into the hall and the pair burst into one of the many sitting rooms on the ground floor of the castle.

"Fastion," Zachary whispered, jerking a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Fastion, Fastion."

"Can we get outside from here?" she whispered, looking uneasily around the room.

Zachary shut the secret door behind them. "Yes, more or less. This is one of the few rooms with real windows. We can climb through." She moved toward a window, but he caught her shoulder. "Karigan, what is happening?"

She avoided his gaze. "Something's wrong."

"Clearly."

"No. Well, yes. I spoke to Fastion just a few hours ago. He had suspicions, worries. Some of the Weapons had been acting strangely, he said. He led me to that passage and told me where it led to. He was afraid, Your Majesty. He said I was the only one he could trust." She shuddered. "And then just now he didn't remember why I was there. He didn't remember anything. And his face – and his voice –" She looked up at him. "Something is very, very wrong."

Zachary considered her. "Where are you planning on taking me?"

She dropped her eyes. "I didn't really actually plan that far ahead."

Shouts reached their ears, coming from outside the door. Karigan grabbed her king's arm and applied her special ability. The door burst open and two black and silver clad soldiers trundled in, dragging something behind them. They heaved it into a chair and raised a torch.

_Connly!_ Karigan thought, her fingers digging into Zachary's flesh. She heard a quiet protest, but her focus remained on the Rider. Blood smeared his features and stained his clothes and he twitched weakly, his eyes mere glimmers in his swollen face.

"Let's try this again, Greenie," a soldier snarled. He raised the lieutenant by his lapels. "Where's the king?"

Connly mumbled incoherently and tossed his head in agitation. The soldier raised his fist and pummeled the Rider's already broken head.

"I said, where is he!" Another punch thrown. Connly's body jerked, then hung lifelessly.

"Brilliant work, gov. You killed him," the other soldier sneered. "Looks like we ain't gonna get any more out of him. Come on. They're trying to find the captain. If anyone knows where the king would hide, it's her."

"Right." The soldier opened his hands and Connly dropped with a _thump_ onto the ground. He landed a parting kick in the Rider's stomach before following his fellow back into the hallway.

Zachary hurried and shut the door while Karigan scrambled to Connly's side. She found a pulse – weak, but there, and chafed his hand. "Come on, Connly," she whispered, "Wake up. Please wake up."

One eye was swollen shut, but the other peered at her. "Karigan?" he croaked.

"Yes, yes! Thank the gods. Connly, why did they do this to you? What is happening?"

A shudder rushed through his body. "The…king. They're trying to – to find him. I don't…" Another shudder.

Zachary, who had been contemplating the extent of the traitors in his military, turned and knelt beside him.

"Rider – "

At the sound of his voice, Connly jerked and struggled to rise. Karigan and Zachary held him down. "Stop that," Karigan ordered. "You're too hurt to move."

"Y-your Majes-Majesty." One bloodied hand reached out feebly. Zachary took it.

"Yes, I'm here."

"K-Karigan. Ty and…err…Ty and…. They're outside, with horses. Trying to get a m-message out. You must escape."

Karigan and Zachary exchanged a glance. "Escape the castle?"

"All of them, they're all – gone mad. T-talking nonsense. Heresy. Rebellion." He groaned and seemed to sink into himself.

"Connly? Connly!"

His eye cracked open once again. "Fergal…he can…can see them…." He fell still. Zachary felt his neck.

"He's still alive."

Karigan's eyes welled up. Tears? No tears a time like this. She dashed them away impatiently and stood, faintly aware of Zachary's helping hands. "We must go. I thought we could get to one of the unused sections to hide, but I doubt we'll ever be able to make it that far, even with my ability."

"Are you all right?"

She stared at him. Was she all right? The Weapons were crazy, the soldiers were rebelling, her lieutenant and Aeryc knew how many other Riders were dying. _He _had just been almost murdered by his most faithful guards and he was asking if _she _was all right?

He cupped her face, entrapping her eyes with his. "Karigan –"

Here was danger. She pulled his hands away. "Let's go." She moved past him to one of the windows and pried it open. She could hear voices, but none from nearby. With a last glance at Connly, she hoisted herself through the window and dropped into the spiny bushes below.


	3. Chapter 3

...

Ty paused in darkness of a tree and waited until the clump of horsemen had passed. First the Weapons, then the guards, now the Light Horse? He frowned, his eyes flickering across the field to where Karigan stood near the stables. She met his gaze. _Be careful_, she mouthed. He gave a brisk nod. "Ready, sir?" he asked the man sharing his horse.

"Yes," was the low reply. Ty felt arms tighten around his waist and he took a steadying breath. Carrying a dangerous message was one thing, but carrying one of the most important lives in all of Sacoridia? He took another breath.

Riding into Sacor City was like running barefoot through thorns. Sacoridian soldiers patrolled every street and alley. A few other Riders had already tried to get through, but to no avail. Tegan somehow managed to reach the gate, until she was dragged back to the castle by the battalion that stood guard there. And Connly….

There was no opportunity for secrecy. Tegan told them that the gate was left open for their own horse patrols. Perfect. Ty absently curled his fingers in Crane's wiry hair. His horse was the fastest. At this point, he was the only one that stood a chance. He clenched his jaw. He would make it.

"Here we go."

He applied his spurs and Crane shot forward. The horse's gait jolted and rocked until he grew accustomed to the weight of two riders, after which his lope was smooth as butter. Ty prayed the delay wouldn't cost.

They raced past the guardhouses, beneath the portcullis, and over the drawbridge. He listened – silence from the guardhouses. The soldiers were either scouring the castle or infesting the city.

Thank the gods.

They fairly flew down the hill. As Crane's iron hooves clattered onto the Winding Way, Ty half expected to be tackled straight out of his saddle. It had been Karigan's idea to use the main thoroughfare. "They'll anticipate that the king will try to sneak past them," she had explained, "and they will waste their efforts in the alleyways. You'll have less opposition on the main road. It will be better for Crane, anyway – a straight shot at the gate."

'Straight' was applied loosely here. The road wasn't called the Winding Way for nothing.

As they rode deeper into the city, Ty allowed the first real glimmer of hope to brighten his face. So far, Karigan's prediction held true. That part of the plan had succeeded. He smiled grimly. Now it was all him. No mistakes here. (Not that he ever made any mistakes. But the stakes seemed a bit higher in this case.)

They rounded a corner and almost collided with a small Light Horse patrol. _And it begins_, he thought. He deftly guided Crane around them, but he heard their shouts and cries and the sudden increase of hoofbeats as they set to chase him and his vital cargo. He quickly forgot his hope beneath his single-minded determination.

_Faster, Crane. Faster!_

They raced past another patrol.

"Rider! The king! He has the king!"

"Shut the gate! SHUT THE GATE!"

"They're falling behind," were the hot, whispered words in his ear.

_Almost there…almost there…._

The gate groaned as it cranked down. Great, gleaming spikes ornamented the bottoms. Ty had a horrid image of being flayed alive.

"Form ranks! Do not let them pass!"

The gate was almost halfway down. A line of soldiers stood before it, bearing angled spears ready to impale. The arms around Ty's waist threatened to break him in half. Crane gave a terrified scream.

_Almost…almost…._

"Ty - now!"

Ty pulled the reins to the right. Poor Crane's head bucked and jerked and his hooves scrambled as he fought to follow his Rider's directions. For a terrifying moment Ty thought they would tip over, but then Crane, conditioned from his years of racing, swooped a wide right turn and shot down a side road.

"After them!"

"Yes…yes!" the voice crooned jubilantly in his ear.

"We're not done yet," Ty answered, but his pounding heart and shaking hands betrayed not terror, but triumph.

A line of Light Horse riders trotted out of an alley and positioned themselves in the way. Ty pulled the foaming Crane to a halt. He heard clapping metal footsteps behind and knew that they were surrounded.

Just as well.

They were both dragged off the horse, Ty being pulled to the side and his passenger thrust onto the cold cobblestones. A soldier tore off the cloak and the onlookers fell silent.

A sergeant pushed his way to the front. He pointed one gauntleted finger. "_That _is _not_ the king," he growled.

"I like to think of myself as almost as important," came the arrogant reply. He was rewarded with a smack across the face.

"It was a diversion," someone cried. The sergeant paled.

"The gate! Back to the gate!" he hollered. They turned but could only watch with horrified eyes as two riders, one on a long-legged chestnut and the other on a sleek black stallion ducked beneath the half-closed gate and galloped on to freedom.

Alton D'Yer, his face bleeding and swelling on one side, raised defiant eyes to the sergeant and whispered with barely contained energy, "Long live King Zachary!"


	4. Chapter 4

**26 days until _Blackveil_!**

...**  
**

"…Take care of him…"

Night Hawk's gait was like cream. Zachary marveled at his movements – he could hardly feel the stallion's hooves hitting the ground.

"You have a magnificent horse, Lord D'Yer…"

"Take care of him, Majesty…"

_Yes, but who will take care of you, friend? _Zachary closed his eyes. Ty and Alton were a single dot up ahead. A Light Horse patrol rode hard on their tail. _Please live_, the king begged silently, _please, please live_.

Karigan rode silently beside him. She hadn't spoken since saying farewell to the young Riders, preparing Night Hawk and Condor for their desperate flight with an inscrutable face. No, that wasn't right…. She hadn't spoken since saying farewell to young Alton.

_Jealousy, Zachary? At a time like this? How juvenile. _He shook his head fiercely and refocused his eyes on the road ahead. So quiet. The soldiers had terrified the citizens into their homes. _Please live_, he begged for them. _Please be safe_.

Karigan raised a hand and they reined their horses to a stop and waited. As they watched, a second patrol joined the chase.

He took a breath to speak, but Karigan interrupted. "There was no way I was going to let you stay," she told him. "They were as Connly said: mad. No one would have reasoned with you. No one would have listened to you."

He clamped his lips over his words. In his gut, he knew she was correct and he hated it. Despite it, he had never felt more of a coward until now.

Ty suddenly wheeled Crane into a side street. "This is it," Karigan whispered.

"Hey! You!"

"Gods," Karigan cursed. "Go!"

The pair charged forward, the pounding of hoofbeats behind them. He wondered what sort of weapons the Light Horse carried, and if any of them were ranged.

A few soldiers lingered at the half-closed gate, but their attention seemed to be on the uproar the Riders had caused. _Please keep not noticing us._

"Fly…" He heard Karigan hiss at the wind. "Fly!"

He felt like he was flying. The gate rushed toward him at such a speed that he was surprised Night Hawk didn't crash to the ground. He glanced at Karigan, but she wasn't there. Invisible. Really. She didn't feel like cloaking him as well?

The remaining guards finally took notice of them – no, him. They couldn't see Karigan. They lowered their spears, their deadly points glaring at his heart. Swords were drawn behind him.

"The gate!" Zachary heard. "Back to the gate!"

Karigan chose that moment to reappear. The guards jumped, startled by her sudden manifestation. It was enough. The horses blew past; Zachary barely remembered to duck. A burning pain sliced down his scalp and back, but then they were out of the city and racing across dew strewn grass.

He exchanged an exultant look with Karigan. They'd made it. He almost laughed. They made it!

Silver flashed past his face. They were still being chased and knives were being thrown at them. That answered his earlier question.

Karigan spurred Condor harder and the foaming horse somehow found a burst of speed. Zachary could feel Night Hawk heaving beneath him and he again marveled at the creature. He was definitely not a normal horse.

The Kingway stretched out before them, wide, paved, and coverless. When things settled down, he decided, he would most certainly have some trees planted alongside it.

Another knife whizzed past. His former exultation began to diminish. No, they wouldn't make it. There was nowhere to hide, their horses were tiring, the soldiers were single-mindedly lethal.

"Fly!" Karigan suddenly screamed. "Help us!"

Who was she –

_Whack_. It felt like someone had lobbed a rock at his back. He flung forward on Night Hawk's neck and choked for the breath that was knocked out of him. He stared over his shoulder at the object protruding from his upper back. A knife?

_Whack_. His back arched. Down, near his spine. Pain. White lights flashed in his sight.

Somewhere, Karigan was screaming. Was he still on his horse? He hoped so. How embarrassing it would be to fall off now that they had gotten so far. How far were they, exactly?

He hunched in the saddle, noting with interest the darkness clouding his eyesight. This would most certainly void the marriage contract, he thought absently.

Beneath him, Night Hawk suddenly readied himself to jump. His powerful muscles corded up and his front hooves left the ground. Zachary raised his eyes. They were jumping into…whiteness? To his right, Karigan and Condor blurred into long streaks of green and brown. A throwing knife became a dash of silver before dissipating. Time slowed. Night Hawk jumped, and jumped, and jumped. Sounds dragged out into low, monotonous tones.

For an instant, his pain subsided. Then Night Hawk's front hooves landed in short, crunchy, white grass and the pain rushed back as quickly as time did. They continued to run, but no soldiers followed them.

"Where are we?" he gasped. Karigan reached for the reins dangling from his fingers

"Hold on," she whispered. "Just a little further."

They stampeded over a bridge.

"How do you know where you are going?" he asked. All he saw was white, save for the occasional black dot somewhere in the distance.

She didn't respond. He forced his drooping head up. A black figure raced ahead of them, great wings unfolded to the windless air. As if from a great distance, he heard a horse neigh. Then his head became too heavy and he slumped over Night Hawk's neck.


	5. Chapter 5

...

Karigan drug her feet through the thick mud, vocally cursing her rotten luck. Of _course _it would be raining. Of _course _everybody would be inside their homes. Of _course _the gods would lead her to some godforsaken…somewhere.

She glanced back. Condor gazed at her miserably. Night Hawk blinked. And King Zachary still didn't move. She jerked her head around and trudged on, forcing down her rising panic. _Don't think. Stay calm. Stay calm, Kari. Focus – focus!_

She had come across a few houses earlier, but either there was no one home or they were ignoring her. Obviously they had no idea who was DYING on the BACK OF A HORSE.

"Calm!" she shouted, but her voice was swallowed up by a clap a thunder. She didn't think it was possible, but she swore the rain came down harder. A sob welled up in her chest, but she dashed that away too. No time to cry.

A tall building loomed up ahead, candles flickering in all of the windows. She charged forward. The building was fenced, with a healthy-looking stable to the side. An inn? Oh please, let it be an inn.

She led the horses into the yard and bolted up the rickety staircase. She threw her panic against the door, pounding and yelling at the top of her lungs. When it finally opened, she almost fell into the arms of the woman standing there. "Please," she begged, her voice torn. "Please, you have to help me. He's – dying. I don't know how much longer – "

The woman pulled her into the fragrant lobby. "Husband!" she called, barreling into a side room. Karigan's legs threatened to fail beneath her, but soon the woman reappeared, followed by a red-faced man and what could have only been his two red-faced sons. They hurried outside while Karigan was forced into a chair by the good matron.

"I get you hot cocoa," she said in a thickly accented voice. Hot cocoa? Karigan didn't want hot cocoa. As she stood, however, the round backside of the husband appeared in the door. He backed slowly into the room, holding the king's legs. His first son became visible, as well as a bloodstained Rider shirt, and finally the third, his thick arms wrapped around the king's torso. Karigan's legs finally did give out and she plopped back into her chair.

"Upstairs, upstairs," the woman commanded, thrusting a steaming mug into Karigan's shaking hands. "Big bedroom."

Clutching the cocoa, Karigan followed them as they crept carefully up the narrow staircase. Her view of the king was blocked, but she was very aware of the bloody raindrops that shed off of him onto the polished wooden floors. They shuffled down a hallway and squeezed into the 'big bedroom.' It wasn't much larger than her room had been in the barracks, but it was clean and neatly kept.

A stressed moment passed as the men considered the best way to place the king, then Karigan watched in agonized torment as they awkwardly laid him on his side, then rolled him onto his stomach.

The woman pushed her way into the cramped room and gasped. She raised a finger at one of the boys. "You, son, you go fetch midwife. Run fast."

He nodded curtly and slipped from the room.

"Can't do much about these knives," the husband spoke in a surprising tenor (and Sacoridian) voice. "But it's no good letting him get sick. Help me with these clothes, Trev."

They bent over the king and Karigan was bustled from the room. "I prepare bath for you, yes?"

"No – no, thank you, I'd rather wait here."

"No. You take bath." Karigan was shoved down the hallway. "Was to be husband's bath, but now yours."

Never before had Karigan bathed so quickly. Her skin was scrubbed in seconds, her hair took a little bit longer, but soon she was standing beside the tub, wrapped in a towel. To her chagrin, the woman had taken her clothes but seemed to have forgotten to give any sort of replacement.

She was contemplating the consequences of just going as she was when the woman returned. "I am Rena," she declared. "Here, nightgown. Was mine when I was young woman."

Karigan pulled it on carefully and her mouth twisted. By 'young woman' Rena must mean when she was ten. The lace hem barely reached past Karigan's knees and the top was a bit too tight for her preference, but who was she to complain? "Thank you," she said, and meant it.

Rena nodded, then reached out and stroked Karigan's cheek. "Will be all right."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her lip tremble. Hastily, she jerked her head away from the woman's work-worn hand and mumbled, "Yes, of course."

Voices drifted up, accompanied by the opening and closing of the front door. Karigan hurried out into the hall, her appearance forgotten. A woman hidden beneath the folds of a traveling cloak rushed up the stairs, a bag slung over her shoulder. A midwife? How…uncomforting.

"Where is he? Which room – oh, hello, dear." She shook Karigan's hand briskly. "Don't look so distressed. I'll take care of him. Now, where is he?"

She was directed into the bedroom and she shut the door smartly behind her. Karigan, who had begun to follow her, frowned, her nose inches away from the wood.

"You drink now."

Karigan turned and accepted the new cup of cocoa with a weak smile. She began to pace. She paced until the cup was empty. She paced until her feet hurt. She paced until she wanted to hock the cup down the staircase. The cotton nightgown was horribly wrinkled by the wringing of her hands by the time the door opened.

The midwife smiled kindly at her.

"Is he – ?" Karigan began, barely allowing herself to hope.

"He is asleep."

"And will he – ?"

"That I cannot say. But go to him, let him feel you near. But do not wake him. Excuse me." She slipped past and treaded softly down the stairs.

Karigan took a steadying breath. Offering a silent prayer, she stepped into the room.

King Zachary lay on his stomach, his breathing shallow, ragged. She crept nearer. The blanket was tightly tucked around his legs, leaving his bare back exposed. There was no linen wrapped around the injuries and she could see the two knife wounds, neatly stitched, but still angry red. A third long gash glared at her, along the back of his head and over his spine. Not deep enough to be stitched, but still glistening with some sort of ointment. When had that happened?

She perched on the edge of the bed, as there was no other place to sit. He gave a soft moan, but didn't wake. Her eyes moved to a side table, where the knives rested. Blood still stained the blades and rage surged as memories rushed into her mind. Were Ty and Alton alive? Were any of the Riders alive, for that matter? Her hands clenched around her nightgown. And the Weapons? And…Fastion. That sob from before rose into her throat. Her hands began to shake as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Zachary suddenly jerked and cried out, gripping the bedding. She reached and took his hand in one of hers, and touched his face with the other. Hot. What nightmares must be tormenting him? Her fingers trailed away from his forehead and over his shoulder, across the smooth skin and muscles of his back. She traced down his spine, then paused at the knife wound. It blurred in her vision as the sob broke through her restraints. Bringing her legs up onto the bed, she curled around his hand, succumbing to her exhaustion and her pain.


	6. Chapter 6

**24 days!**

...

The door creaked open just enough for two pairs of eyes to peek through. "They wouldn't come in here, would they?" a voice whispered. "They have no reason to come in here."

"I'll light them on fire if they do," the second voice replied.

A clump of Weapons turned down the corridor and before Ben could react, one of them shouted, "You! Open the door!"

Ben glanced at Mara, who balanced a ball of fire in her hand, a malicious glower sparkling in her eyes. "Just let them try," she growled.

Ben chewed on his lip. He'd rather not be skewered by a Black Shield, but he also didn't want Mara setting the Mending Wing aflame. "Mara, we can't do anything," he said. She turned her glare on him. "They're almost here. Get back in your room – and put that fire out!"

With a scowl that could have ignited the stone walls, she snapped her hand shut and hurried back into her chamber, shutting the door just as the Weapons burst into the Wing.

Ben backed away. "We have no quarrel with you," he said, his voice trembling. "This is a place of heal – "

"Quiet, Rider. We know where your loyalties lie."

"Where yours once did," Ben said before he could stop himself. The Weapon – Willis? – backhanded him across his face and he crashed to the ground.

"I would kill you for that," Willis growled, "But we have need of your…abilities."

Wiping his mouth, Ben searched the group. The Weapon, Karigan's friend…what was his name? Two of the traitors held him between them, and he was obviously unconscious. Blood smeared over half his face and matted his dark hair.

"Ah, a head wound," he heard himself saying. Where was this boldness coming from? "Those do tend to bleed a lot. I'm sure he'll be fine."

He was dragged up into the air until his feet dangled. "You have healing magic. You will heal him."

"Will I?" _Shut up, Ben. Just shut up! _

"We have Master Mender Destarion."

Ben's heart stopped. That's where he went. His jaw clenched and he leveled the Weapon with a hateful glare. "Fine."

He took his time choosing a room for the Weapon, declaring this one to be too small and that one too messy. He tripped purposely over his frock and made a great show of getting back up. Only until he felt the tip of a blade at his back did he finally situate the wounded man in a chamber near Mara's. "As quickly as can be done," Willis snapped before leading his posse of thugs away. As the door shut, Mara crept out of her room, her eyes wide with admiration.

"You can barely touch a horse, but by the gods, you can give a Black Shield back his own!"

Ben blushed as he fumbled with a rag and water. "It was stupid. They just make me – just so angry." He paused and looked down at the Weapon. "Maybe I should kill him and tell them it was too late for me to save him."

Mara stepped to the bedside and touched the patient's face. "Fastion," she said softly, her fingers lingering on his cheek. "I wonder what happened to him."

"Does it matter?" Ben pushed past her and began to clean the wound. "He's a traitor, like the others."

"How do you know that?"

"Because if he had defended the king, he would be dead."

Ben dropped the rag into the bowl. Fresh blood trickled from the large swollen gash on Fastion's forehead. A dark bruise had formed around it and Ben gave a silent cheer for whoever had landed the hit.

_Think of Master Destarion_, he told himself as he placed his fingers over the injury. He closed his eyes and felt for his magic. It simmered in his chest, beneath his brooch, but at his call it rushed down his arms and into his hands.

He heard Mara's intake of breath as green wisps wrapped around Fastion's head. As the magic settled itself into the injury, Ben became very aware of each of his own cuts and bruises. His face throbbed where Willis had smacked him, his leg where he'd landed on the ground, the toe he had stubbed earlier in the day, his hungry stomach, and, worst of all, that blasted paper cut, as well as a hundred other small injuries. His head began to throb. _Feel pain to end it_, he thought, grimacing.

Fastion's head moved. The Weapon was waking up. Ben opened his eyes. The bruising and swelling was gone, and the gash was almost closed. He wasn't done sealing the fracture in his skull, however.

"Do I have to heal him completely?" Ben hissed through his teeth.

Fastion's eyes flashed open. The dilated pupils contracted as he focused on the apprentice's face. His lips curled back in a snarl.

Ben released him and the magic rushed back into his chest. "The Weapons brought you here," he said evenly, backing away. "I was healing – you!" Fastion leapt from the bed and grabbed the Rider, throwing him against the wall. _Ouch_. His fingers closed around Ben's throat.

"Fastion! Stop!" Mara shouted. She raised her hand and flames sparked above her fingers.

"You're – hurt," Ben gasped. "Your head. You're not – thinking right." The words ended in a squeak as his windpipe was crushed.

"I said stop!" Memories of what happened the last time she threw fire fresh in her mind, Mara rushed forward and grabbed Fastion's arm. Her hands blazed through his sleeve and she felt his flesh burn beneath her touch. He let out a shout and jerked away. Ben slid to the floor, hands clutching his neck, gasping and choking.

Fastion wheeled around, his glare murderous. His hand flew to his waist, but his sword was absent, though Mara knew that didn't mean much. Black Shields could kill just as easily without a blade.

She raised her hands as he approached. "Do not," she warned. He didn't stop. Feeling her own forehead grow hot, she coaxed flames to her palms. "Don't make me do this." He didn't bat an eye. When he was just a few steps from her, he suddenly ducked beneath her hands and rammed into her stomach faster than she could think. They charged out of the room and crashed against the corridor wall.

She could hear Ben's gasping cries, but her attention was filled with visions of her own death as Fastion loomed over her. He was going to kill her. And here she thought they were friends. A whimper escaped her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

And waited. And waited.

She opened her eyes. Fastion stared down at her, a mixture of horror, confusion, and pain shifting across his face. Mara caught her breath. Was he…?

In a moment, he scrambled away from her, wincing, clutching his burned arm, and mumbling incoherent apologies. He stood up, then grabbed the wall as his head swam and his vision blurred.

"Mara!" Ben staggered into the hall. "Mara, are you all right?" He helped her to her feet, watching Fastion's obvious disconcertment with suspicion.

"Yes, I'm fine." She straightened out her clothing, then stepped toward the Weapon cautiously. "How are you?" she said.

Fastion, a hand pressed to his head, looked around with pain-narrowed eyes. "How did I get here?" He hissed and delicately touched his burned arm. "What happened?"

Ben frowned, still suspicious. "You tried to kill us."

Fastion stared. "I'm sorry?"

"I can't forgive you just yet."

"No – no, I meant – well, yes, right, but...I don't…know?" he looked around, his distress evident on his strained features. For Ben, it was more emotion than he had ever seen on a Weapon's face and his hackles lowered.

Mara touched his sleeve. "You don't remember anything?"

His brow creased as he thought. "I remember speaking to Karigan." He shook his head and winced at the pain it brought. After a moment, he continued, "I was explaining to her some concerns I had and I took her…" He trailed off with a surreptitious glance at the two Riders. "I was at my post when my head became…fuzzy. Like – now."

Mara helped him lower himself onto the floor. "What next?" she prompted.

Fastion leaned his head against the wall, breathing steadily through his nose. "I suppose I convinced myself I'd fallen asleep, but now I see I must have hit my head somehow. There were flashes of…strangeness. It was a terrible dream. So much anger. The king had to die…for some reason. Donal and I, we planned…Brienne, too. The castle had become corrupted by Mornhavon and we had to stop it. She went down to the tombs and I – gods, did I do that to you?" He was staring at Ben.

Mara glanced back. Horrid black bruises wrapped around his neck. Ben shrugged and pulled his frock up higher. "I'll be fine," he wheezed.

Fastion looked unconvinced, but his blazing arm and throbbing skull distracted him. "Such an awful dream," he murmured.

Ben and Mara exchanged a glance. Ben nodded. Mara breathed deeply. "Fastion, I…I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"How do you mean?"

"It wasn't a dream."

Fastion leaned forward, his eyes curious. "What?"

"The Weapons…you've been scouring the castle for the king all night, killing or imprisoning any who claimed fealty to him."

"Impossible."

"Not so. Fastion." Here, she took another breath. "Your Black Shields tried to kill him."

A long moment passed, then Fastion let out a bark of laughter. "You're very amusing," he said with a smile, "but I'm afraid that is the most ludicrous thing I have ever had the pleasure of hearing."

"But it's true!" Ben cried. "They took Master Mender Destarion. You tried to kill us!"

"I'm suffering from a head injury, am I not? I'm sorry for it, however."

"Fastion!" Mara shouted. He looked at her in surprise. "You tried to kill King Zachary!"

He smiled again and was about to speak when the Mending Wing doors opened and Willis and another Weapon burst into the hall. Fastion stood to greet them. "These two have been telling me the most amusing…yarn…" He trailed off as he looked into their faces. Mara cringed at the devastation in their eyes and felt Ben shift uneasily beside her. Fastion's smile faded slowly. "No," he protested softly. "It can't be."

Willis held up his sword. Crimson blood trickled through the rivulets. His tortured features twisted. "Fastion. We have committed a unspeakable mistake."


	7. Chapter 7

**Revised 5/8/11**

...

Mara pulled the blanket up around Connly's neck, smiling fondly at him. Despite the bruises and cuts littering his skin, he slept peacefully. "He'll recover," Master Destarion said as he wiped his hands. "He just needs time."

Mara raised pleased eyes to the mender's face, but his expression hung wearily. Feeling a pang, she rested a hand on his shoulder. "You should rest."

"No, no. There's too much to do." He stepped into the hallway and Mara followed, dodging the masses that shuffled and complained their way around the Wing. Once the terror had ceased, the shock of the night eventually faded away over the course of a few hours and every injured occupant of the castle descended en masse upon the Mending Wing, bearing one grievance or another. Once the rooms filled past occupancy, servants and nobles alike were shipped up to the guest quarters where Ben currently busied himself.

"My presence has been requested in the throne room," Destarion said, peeking into rooms as he passed. "But I don't think I'll be able to leave." He looked back at Mara. "I know you're no Green Foot runner, but could you perhaps toddle on over and let them know?"

She smiled and said, "Of course," and slipped gratefully out of the Wing.

Her smile faded as she made her way through the castle. Shadows clumped darker than she remembered. Most furniture had been righted by dedicated servants, but shattered pieces piled up occasionally in corners and along the walls. Despair dusted the surfaces and dirtied the faces of those she passed, and Mara couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for King Zachary. He survived the night only to be faced with a new battle today.

The throne room doors stood wide open and the Weapons were conspicuous by their absence. Mara stepped cautiously inside and her jaw dropped. It seemed every Black Shield in the castle stood on the dais: one mass of black and metal. Were there really that many? The occasional aristocrat added splashes of color and representatives from the other military factions stood in groups. Mara made her way toward Captain Mapstone, who paced near Colin Dovekey and Castellan Sperren. In the center of the dais, on the throne sat—no one. Mara's step faltered. The throne was empty.

Captain Mapstone looked up and offered Mara a grim smile. "Welcome to hell, Rider," she murmured.

"Where is King Zachary?"

Laren gave a small snort and an agitated wave of her hand brought Mara's eyes to the two Riders conversing softly with Sperren. Yates met her gaze and smiled half-heartedly. Ty detached himself from the conversation.

"How are things in the Mending Wing?" he inquired politely. Despite his swollen cheek and split lip, he still managed to maintain an otherwise immaculate appearance.

"Chaotic," Mara responded. She glanced at the vacant throne, and ultimately the Black Shields standing around it. "Where is the king?"

Ty exchanged a look with the captain. "We're…not sure."

"Not sure?"

"Karigan, Alton, and I helped him escape the city. Karigan and he seem to have—disappeared."

Mara let out a low whistle. "Oh." She looked up as Alton approached from the opposite side of the throne room. The guards hadn't treated him well, that much was obvious, and whatever knowledge he carried pulled heavily on his shoulders.

"What news, Alton?" Captain Mapstone asked. "Please let it be good."

Alton yanked a hand through his messy hair. "No word from the king or Karigan. The Weapons are organizing search parties." He sighed. "The Coutres are furious. Fortunately, however, the Weapons didn't go after Lady Estora. In fact, she apparently slept through the whole thing." He smiled wryly.

"How nice for her," Yates said, coming up behind Mara.

"Lord-Governor Mirwell is also furious. He did wake up but wasn't allowed out of his room. He suffered a slight – err – injury when he back-talked a Weapon."

"How nice for him," Yates repeated with a grin.

A slight commotion from the throne room doors and Tegan came striding into the chamber, dirty from recent travel, pushing hair from her face. "Captain," she said, clicking her heels together.

"A message, Tegan?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." Her decorum faltered as she glanced about the throne room. "People from the city are gathering at the gates, though. It's like a mob. They're furious. I could barely push through them." Her eyes fell on the Weapons and shock rippled across her features. "What's going on?"

"We'll explain later." Mapstone gestured in a distracted fashion. "Anything else, Alton?"

"Lord-Governor Penburn has cooked up a story." Alton glanced across the throne room. "Hopefully it will last until we figure out what is going on. He kept it as close to the truth as possible. Hendry said that an attempt had been made on the king's life and the soldiers had been searching the city for the assassin. He apologized for any untoward treatment, but it was a desperate state of affairs. The king would not be available due to this unforeseen situation, but at last report, he was perfectly healthy."

Mara bit at her lip. Not a complete lie, but still unsettling. She shifted her gaze. "What about the Weapons?"

The captain sighed. "They're set on finding the king. They're very close-mouthed about everything, however. Colin hasn't offered anything useful, of course." She threw her hand out. "And where is Destarion? I sent for him hours ago."

Mara started. "Oh! Right. He sent me to tell you he was too busy to come." She shrugged sheepishly. "There are too many patients."

"Of course there are." She gave a huff. "And he's probably working Ben to his death." She looked at Mara sidelong. "Since you're already running errands, could you go make sure my Rider is still breathing?"

Mara chuckled. "Yes. I'll go find him." She parted with the other Riders and made the journey to the lavish guest quarters. The extra space eased the crowds and she wasn't jostled as she moved through the carpeted halls. After a few inquiries, she discovered Ben bent over an elderly aristocrat whose face shifted between anger and irritation. Upon seeing Mara, Ben quickly quit the room and found shelter in the shadow of a large, potted plant.

"The man wasn't even touched during the night," he confided, peeking around the fronds. "This morning he tripped while trying to get out of bed and bruised his hip." Ben gave a quick roll of his eyes. "He calls for me every five minutes. I can't get anything done."

"Captain wants me to make sure you're not working too hard." Mara grinned at him. "Should I report that you've been turned into a slave?"

"If the king's law can get me to my other patients, please, report as much as you like." He reached up and prodded the lurid bruises around his neck gingerly. He met Mara's concerned eyes and gave her a light smile. "In all seriousness, though, I'm fine. However, if you would to help…." He moved to a table littered with medical bits and pieces, and handed her a small bottle and a roll of cloth. "Weapon Fastion is in that room there. He's actually been in there for more than an hour." To Mara's raised eyebrow, he defended, "He almost killed me. I figured he could wait. Oh, and make sure he drinks this."

Mara accepted the mug, gave Ben a grin, and knocked softly at Fastion's door before stepping inside. Like the entire wing, the bedchamber was sumptuously decorated. A massive four-poster bed stood on a raised floor in the center of the room, upon which Fastion sat, head bowed. He wore his black uniform pants, but a long white shirt—much too large for him—hung widely around his neck and drooped off his broad shoulders. Heavy shadows bagged the gaze he raised as she approached. She fancied she saw a glimmer of interest spark in his otherwise vacant eyes.

Mara raised the jar and wrappings. "I'm here to take care of your burns," she said by way of explanation, settling beside him. "Drink this, and I'll need you to roll up your sleeve."

With a soft sigh, he instead pulled his arm out of his shirt and pushed the fabric up around his neck, holding out his injury to her. Her face flaming, Mara tore her eyes away from his muscled torso, passed him the drink, and scooped out some cream. "They used this on me," she said, taking his arm in her free hand. "It'll hurt when I'm putting it on, but afterward it will feel better, I promise." His only response was to take a swig of the medicine. Mara smeared the salve over the burns in silence.

"You've left your mark on me," he finally spoke. Mara swung up her head to stare at him.

"Excuse me?"

He nodded at the burns and she looked down. Indeed, two handprints, one with missing fingers, had been blazed into his flesh. She grimaced. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. You saved Ben's life."

His voice grated over the words and she glanced up to surprise a miserable look in his eyes. His eyes…she had seen him only ever in uniform and all of his features seemed dark, but now, with the white shirt around his neck, she saw that they were actually a light gray—like steel, ringed with the same black that ornamented his blade.

"Don't blame yourself," she said, resuming her work on his arm, but he tore it out of her grasp and stood, his free hand a white fist at his side.

"How weak we all were," he snarled, his magnificent eyes flashing with fury. "So easily manipulated – so simple to control!" He slammed a fist into a bedpost, then fell against it. The drink fell from his hand and slopped over the carpet. Mara eased him back down onto the bed.

"Be careful," she hissed. "You aren't well."

"Do you know, Mara?" he croaked. "Do you know what we did? Have you seen the – the _dead_?"

"Do not blame yourself," she repeated fiercely. "It wasn't you." He looked at her. Suddenly self-conscious, she cleared her throat. "And by you I mean the Weapons. It had to have been magic controlling them – err, you. You would never betray King Zachary, for anything. I know you." He looked at her again. "You – err, all of you. The Weapons – err, Black Shields."

"No," he said softly, turning his eyes back to the floor. "There is no excuse."

"Ridiculous." She pulled his arm into her lap and slapped on some ointment. "You weren't even the only ones affected. The Light Horse and regular guard were just as controlled."

"It shouldn't have happened," he whispered. "So spineless. So _weak_."

Mara felt her hands grow hot with her frustration. _Time to change the subject_, she thought, _before I brand his skin again._ "You enjoy exploring the castle, don't you?" she ventured. He blinked.

"Well…yes."

"How about after I get you wrapped up, you show me some of the places you've explored?" She grabbed the linen. When he didn't answer, she looked up to meet a gaze that plainly told her he thought she had lost her senses. She raised a hand. "I'm sorry, do you have a pressing appointment? There's no king left for you to guard."

He stilled. A muscle rippled in his jaw as a thousand nameless emotions rolled in his eyes. "No…king?" he breathed. Mara felt the muscles in his arm grow taut and she released it, leaning away from him uneasily.

"Yes. I thought you knew."

"King Zachary – is – " Fastion stood slowly. His hands clenched and unclenched, his features settled into a frighteningly emotionless expression, and his chest rose and fell with increasing harshness. Mara stood also, holding the roll of cloth as though it could somehow protect her from the swelling fury that roiled from his body. "He is – "

"We don't know where he is," she said, her voice sounding small. "Only Karigan does."

Fastion's head jerked as he looked at her. "The king is alive?"

"Oh! Yes. Well, he was when anyone last saw him. Karigan escaped with him out of Sacor City. The other Weap – Black Shields have already sent out search parties."

He held her in a wide-eyed gaze that made her gulp. When he finally looked away, she felt as though he had flayed the skin from her bones. "I must assist them," he mumbled, pulling down his baggy shirt.

"Wait, no!" She rushed to grab his wrist. "You're not well. You're in no condition to do anything right now."

"There is too much to be done," he said, shaking off her grip. When he reached the doorway, however, he slumped his trembling body against it with a harsh exhale. Mara cautiously rested her hand on his shoulder and peered into his white features.

"You're no use to them like this." His eyes flashed to her face and she swallowed back the urge to retreat. "All the search parties are already out. Rest for a few hours, then you'll be fit to go and search for the king all you like."

He scowled through the open door. Mara could see Ben watching anxiously from down the hall. A few other patients, aware of the Weapon's identity, fretted themselves into other rooms and hallways.

"Fastion," Mara whispered gently. "Please."

His jaw shut with a click and he pulled himself back into the room. Mara gave Ben a quick nod before turning. Fastion settled himself on the bed, his back against a bedpost, one leg drawn up over the mattress, his eyes drifting shut. "I'll be awake in two hours," he murmured.

Mara looked down at the linen in her hands, then back up at Fastion. With a small smile, she backed out of the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Revised 5/9/11**

...

The throne room stunk like fish today. Zachary shifted uncomfortably, wondering where his attendants were. The seagulls, all here to be heard by the king, squawked incessantly, hopping around on the stone floor. "I'm sorry," he said to them. "We can't begin until everyone is here."

They continued to fly in through the great doors at the other end of the hall. "Please," he called to the guards. "We're full in here. Tell the rest to come back tomorrow."

The guards ignored him, ushering more and more birds into the room. Zachary looked around in agitation. Where was the Captain? Where were his Weapons?"

"Excellency."

Zachary turned to see Fastion standing at the base of the dais. "Oh good, you've arrived. We can start now," the king said. Fastion climbed up the steps.

"I'm afraid not."

The seagulls all took to the air, screaming. Zachary covered his ears. "Can't you tell them to be quiet?" he shouted. "Can't they see I don't know how to help them?"

Fastion raised his sword. "Your reign is at an end, Excellency. Step down." The seagulls rose in pitch. Zachary squirmed on his throne. Fastion smiled. "Praise be to Mornhavon." He stabbed.

His back throbbed in two different places. How odd. Hadn't Fastion been in front of him?

After a moment, he realized that he lay in a bed, his face buried in pillows. He couldn't feel his left arm, but did feel the warmth of someone's body curled up beside him and the hot touch of their skin against his. Karigan? No, Karigan had snuck into his room through the secret passage.

She leaned over him, a sword pressed to her lips and her hand over his mouth. "_Shhh_…" she whispered, then climbed beneath the blankets, pressing herself eagerly against him. He took her face and kissed her, long and deep, but when he pulled away he was looking into eyes of pale blue and his hands were buried in golden hair. Estora? They weren't married yet. At least, he didn't remember the wedding.

She was sobbing. He tried to move, to comfort her, but his body refused to respond. _I'm sorry_, he wanted to say. _I'm sorry that you're sad_.

She was sad. He climbed up the rickety ladder and found her curled in a haystack. Grief shook her entire being and he wrapped his arms around her. He would never let her go. He would protect her.

But he couldn't. Alton D'Yer pulled her away and held her against his chest. His eyes were patronizing. "You can't have her," the lord said. "She doesn't belong to you." Great granite blocks tumbled from the ceiling. They surrounded the king as they piled higher and higher.

"No!" Zachary cried, pounding against the wall. He would not be trapped.

"I think he's waking up," Karigan murmured against Alton's neck as Zachary disappeared behind the wall. Alton raised her face to his and kissed her mouth, passionately, revoltingly.

The granite reached up into the sky, higher than Zachary could see. He was trapped. Alone.

With a great crack, the wall split and pulled apart. Mornhavon stood in the breach. He smiled. "Hail Firebrand."

Zachary's back blazed. He jerked and cried out. Cool hands pressed him down into the bed. "Calm yourself, sir, please. We don't want you to tear apart the stitching."

He shuddered as he opened his eyes. Bloodied knives glared at him and he rolled away from them, writhing as pain speared through his spine. "Please sir, don't! Don't move!"

"Where am I?" he groaned, peering blearily around the room. Everything was foggy and reeked and his head just _ached_. A dark face leaned over him and he shrunk into the pillows "Who are you?"

"You're in my home - _please_ roll back over."

Zachary cringed away from his hands. "How did I get here? Wha-what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to help you, if you would just – "

The pain was almost unbearable and his head – so fuzzy, so hard to think. He pushed himself onto his elbows, feeling his skin pull and tear. His back arched and the pain intensified. What had they done to him?

"Someone, come help!"

Running footsteps, then another pair of hands gripped his shoulders. "Lay back down," a voice whispered. He knew that voice. It pierced the fog in his mind. "Calm down, you're safe."

Soft hands caressed his face and he allowed himself to be rolled onto his stomach. "Relax," the voice murmured, stroking his heated face. He rested his head in the pillows, breathing steadily as his racing heart calmed. "You're safe."

"He pulled all the stitching." The brass tones of the voice made him cringe, but his mind was beginning to clear.

"It can be redone. Go fetch some food."

The fog clouding his vision burned slowly away. The bloodied knives rested on a small table, dry and abandoned. The smell: fish and ocean. Seagulls cried outside. The coast? His gaze shifted. The room was small and wooden, with barely any furnishings. A hand still held his face and he raised his own to cover it, turning his head. Karigan.

"Good afternoon," she said.

"Afternoon?" he echoed.

"We were afraid you would never wake up." She pulled on the blanket, tucking it around his arms.

"We?"

Karigan stood. "How much do you remember?"

"There was a wall," he mumbled. "A wall and seagulls."

She bit her lower lip. "Right."

A ruddy young man entered the room, a tray clutched in his hands. "Mama will be up in a little bit." He passed the tray to Karigan. "I've gotta get back to work." He glanced at Zachary warily before exiting.

"Feel up to eating?" She held out a bread slice enticingly before him. He watched it vacantly. The bread dropped and Karigan abandoned the tray on the table, sitting unceremoniously onto the edge of the bed. "When I said we were afraid you would never wake up," she said softly, "it wasn't…" She raised her eyes to meet his. He held her gaze until she looked away. "It was close. The knives were deep. You were – _are_ very weak."

His eyelids drifted shut. After a moment, he felt Karigan stand and her heard footsteps creep across the floor. "What happened?" he asked into the pillows. At first he didn't think she had heard him, but then the footsteps returned and she perched next to him once more.

"I wish I knew," she answered. "I wish I had answers for you, but I don't."

"Do you know where we are?"

To this, she heaved a great sigh. "Black Island."

He blinked in surprise. "So far from the castle? How long was I unconscious?"

She laughed and scratched absently at her head. "Not as long as you would think."

A sudden wave of pain pushed bile up into his throat and he struggled to hide his squirming. Karigan leaned over him, resting one cool hand on his forehead and the other on his back. "You should be resting," she said. "I'll go."

"No – please. Don't." He grasped for her arm. "Please stay."

A pucker appeared between her eyebrows. "No. I really should go." He watched in consternation as she pulled his trembling hand away. "Sleep, Excellency. You must rest."

"You are awake," a powerful voice suddenly told them. Karigan immediately straightened. Zachary craned his neck to peer over his shoulder at the formidable woman that strode into the room. She peered back at him with eyes darker than his own.

"Yes, he awakened just a little while ago," Karigan responded, taking up the bloody knives and tucking them into her belt. "Your maj – " She stopped herself, her eyes locking with the king's. A warning passed between them. She cleared her throat. "Zachary – " the name sounded awkward on her tongue " – this is Rena. She and her husband have graciously lent their home to us."

"My thanks, lady," he said as she approached.

"I no lady. You not eat yet?" She scrutinized the contents of the tray. "I help you eat." She knelt at his bedside. His eyes darted to Karigan, but she was already stepping out of the room, leaving his questions unanswered. "Open mouth," Rena commanded. He obeyed, watching Karigan until she disappeared entirely. As Rena shoveled food into his mouth, he struggled to remember the journey here. He could easily recall the ride through Sacor City, then the knives in his back…. Something strange had happened then. Something to do with their horses.

"Why you get knives in your back?" Rena asked, holding a cup to his lips. He swallowed the unchewed food painfully and took what could only be described as a swig of warm milk.

_Why, indeed? _"I seem to have made some new enemies," he answered.

She peered at him. "Are you a bad man?" She took up a bowl of soup and stuck the spoon between his teeth. He coughed, jarring his injuries, which were jarred even further when she pounded heartily on his back. White lights flashed in his vision and his body spasmed.

"No," he wheezed. White lights.

"You feel better?"

"Much." Whiteness. The horses had jumped into whiteness. Everything had been white. There were bridges as well.

"Enough food for you. You rest now." She took the tray and departed, leaving a dazed king staring after her. The meal was settling into his stomach and his eyes drooped wearily, but he could hear Karigan speaking with Rena in the hallway.

"…realize this is all very strange," Karigan was saying. "I'm sorry that I can't tell you more…"

Zachary jerked, forcing himself awake.

"…must be hiding. I do not want trouble."

"I understand completely, but I assure you, no one will find us here. They can have no way…"

"We are a small, happy village…my family is happy. If something happens, you will…."

"…promise you. We'll do our best…"

He couldn't open his eyes, but he knew when someone settled onto the bed beside him. A familiar, cool hand touched his cheek and he reached out feebly. Karigan's fingers closed around his. As he gave in to his exhaustion and his pain, he thought he heard her murmur, "I'll be here when you wake up." His grip tightened. It was all he wanted. But then her fingers slipped away even as sleep overcame him.


	9. Chapter 9

**I was proud of this, until I realized that the second half is basically Fastion and Mara's Scene: The Extended Version. Let's all just pretend that I'm much more creative than I actually am.**

...

"Does it remind you of home?"

Karigan started. She'd almost forgotten he was there. "No, not really. The smell, yes, but Corsa is considerably busier than this. There's hardly any beach to stand on."

"Mmm." Zachary turn his face into the ocean wind. "This is just like Hillander."

Karigan hazarded a glance at him. Despite the recent events, his eyes glowed as he stared out past the ocean at the flaming sunset. One booted foot tapped against the rocky sand and she smiled at his left hand, which reached down as if a terrier panted beside him.

"How often do you visit?"

"As often as I can."

_Which is never._ Karigan sighed and cast her gaze to the other end of the beach. She could hear the shouts of fishermen as their boats pulled into the dock. A few figures wandered down the shoreline, some with children, some by his or herself. Rena's menfolk would be coming home for supper, plates of which she'd shared with Karigan and the king.

"Don't stay out past sunset," she'd warned. "Too cold for him and strange folk out after dark."

Karigan couldn't imagine what strange folk could inhabit this isolated place, but they'd agreed to her terms without complaint. In spite of his injuries, Zachary was determined to go outside and he'd all but dragged Karigan with him, who refused to let him go anywhere by himself. _I'm his Weapon now_, she told herself. He was her responsibility.

Once out, she'd assisted him to the beach, where they found a small hillock to sit on. Sitting was a painful process for him, but they somehow managed with much laughter. Since then, they had sat in almost complete silence for at least an hour, if not more. She wondered if it was like this for Fastion: standing silent guard for the king as he watched the stars or the city.

_Fastion._

"Shall we go back inside?" Karigan asked, standing and desperate to get away from her thoughts.

"Not yet," the king responded.

She frowned. Did Fastion have to deal with his stubbornness, as well? She folded her arms and waited for a bit, then sighed and ambled toward the water. Let him stare at his sunset and ocean. She would collect seashells.

In the past hour, there had been multiple times when she thought he would confront her with his feelings again, in private, and in a place where she couldn't run away. To her relief, he had never spoken, though she caught him watching her enough times. At the thought, she glanced up. His eyes weren't on her, however, or the sunset for that matter, but on the docks. She followed his gaze. A group of people gathered tightly on the sand and their upraised voices carried distantly on the wind. An argument of some sort, apparently.

She looked back at the king. He reminded her of one of his terriers – eyes wide, posture rigid, head forward, his entire focus on the other side of the beach. If he had dog ears, they'd be perked like arrows. Suddenly, he moved, trying to stand. Dropping the few shells she held, Karigan ran to him.

"What is it?" she asked, grabbing his arms.

"Something is happening over there." He leaned on her heavily as he pulled himself up with a grimace on his face.

Karigan shook her head. "We should go back inside. Rena will be expecting us." She began walking toward the beach stairs, but he stood his ground.

"No, I want to see what it is."

_You can't be serious. _"It's not a dispute you need to settle. Please come."

"No."

"Yes. You need to rest."

"I'm fine. You go inside."

"_Will _you just come!"

He jerked his arm out of her grip and their eyes locked. A taut moment passed as two of the most powerful wills in Sacoridia battled over much more than just witnessing a beach fight. His features finally softened, but he placed an obstinate foot nearer to the docks. Karigan's eyes narrowed, but if he was determined to go, it wouldn't do either of them any good for him to go alone. She clenched her jaw and, shoving a lid on her pride, fell into step beside him.

She kept her gaze on their destination, but was very aware of his furtive glances. Seeing him about to speak, she threw her chin up tenaciously. His mouth snapped shut. _Smart man_, she thought, ignoring the guilt that whispered in the back of her mind. _I have to protect him_, she reasoned._ He's injured and the sooner he recovers, the sooner we can return to Sacor City. _

Assuming, of course, that Sacor City was safe.

The commotion turned out to be a brawl. Two men wrestled in the sand, bloodied and angry. The surrounding crowd shouted and jeered. Karigan noticed Rena's husband and sons were absent, thank goodness.

"See? Just a fight. Now let's go."

He ignored her and stepped closer. "That boy is half his size," he hissed. "It's not a fair fight."

Karigan peered through the onlookers. The king was right. A grown man pummeled a boy that couldn't be more than fifteen, and it didn't appear that he would stop anytime soon. "It's not our place," she whispered back, trying to convince herself as much as him.

"He doesn't stand a chance. I can't fight, but I can't stand by."

Karigan looked up. Zachary was staring pointedly at her. She shook her head. "No. We're guests here. We can't – "

The boy gave a cry that raised bile in her throat. Without a second thought, she shoved through the crowd. _Just like Timas Mirwell_, she thought. Except taller. And bigger. More like Drent, then. No problem.

She threw a kick into the man's stomach and he fell away, gasping for breath. When his eyes found her, his sun-wrinkled face twisted and he stood. "What do you think yer doing, girl?"

"Leave him alone," she snapped.

The man guffawed and turned to the crowd. "D'you hear that?" The onlookers laughed. He leered at her. "Why dontcha go make yer man his dinner?"

Karigan punched his ugly face. He toppled backwards. In the ensuing silence, she heard Zachary's ringing laughter, reminiscent of that first day they'd spoken, but didn't linger much on it as the man came barreling toward her. She sidestepped and he charged into the crowd.

She was almost disappointed. That was it?

Powerful arms grabbed her from behind. Ah. That's how it's going to be. She threw her head back into another ugly face and propelled her elbow into his stomach. Someone came at her from the front. She ducked his fist and landed an uppercut that would make her trainers proud.

A few more men tried and failed and she soon stood among a few prostrate bodies as the crowd dispersed. Shaking out her throbbing hand, she leaned down beside the young man. King Zachary soon joined her.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently. The boy stared at them with bleary eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know why you helped me, but thank you."

"It wasn't a fair fight," Karigan said. His injuries didn't seem serious, though he did receive quite a beating. "You didn't stand a chance."

"Why did he do this to you?"

As he was helped to a sitting position, the boy said incredulously, "You don't know who I am?"

Karigan exchanged a look with the king. "We're not from here."

The boy scrambled away from them, backing away with his hands outstretched. "Then you shouldn't have helped me."

"Wait, do you need help returning home?" Wincing, the king straightened. "We can escort you if you – "

"N-no. Just – just stay away from me." He turned and limped away from the docks.

Karigan watched him go. "Are you going to make us follow him?" she asked, half-joking.

With a frown on his face, Zachary replied, "No."

A silence followed, then Karigan whispered, "Did you see his hand?"

"I was hoping my eyes were tricking me."

On his palm had been a black tattoo.

…

"It didn't look like a tree," Karigan mused as she washed her hands.

"It didn't look like much of anything, the way he was shaking it at us." Zachary looked around his small chamber with an affectionate smile. "This family has been very kind to us."

"Yes. I'll ask Rena about the boy. She must know something."

Zachary nodded briskly. "Right. Pray that she's only heard good." He frowned. "There was something about him…."

"I'll thank the gods if she hasn't heard anything. No reputation is better than a bad one."

As Karigan left the room, Zachary called a quick, "Goodnight, Karigan."

She paused in the doorway, then turned and bowed. "Goodnight, majesty."

He looked taken aback. _Good._ Their situation changed nothing. She shut the door and moved toward her room with a yawn. Her unused room, now that she thought about it. Last night she'd slept curled up against – no, she'd slept curled around his arm. Not all night, though. When she'd woken up, she was curled – gods, never mind.

"You give him medicine, yes?"

Rena's voice startled her. "What?"

"You put the cream on Zachary's back." The woman held out a jar the midwife had left behind. Karigan stared at it.

"Oh! Oh, no, I won't – can't – couldn't."

"Midwife says it helps him heal. You put it on. Every night. He's yours." The jar was forced into Karigan's unwilling hands. "Goodnight, love. Breakfast at dawn." She waved vaguely as she shuffled away to her bedchamber.

Karigan continued to stare. Awkward.

Pounding footsteps and the first of Rena's sons, Trev, appeared at the top of the staircase. "'Night, Karigan," he said in that friendly way of his.

"'Night," she replied absently.

The second son, Rich, soon joined them. His face flamed and he babbled incoherently before fleeing to his room. Trev grinned and winked at Karigan. She smiled feebly in return.

Awkward.

Zachary could reach the wounds himself, couldn't he? It should be a simple matter to apply the cream. If he used his left hand, he wouldn't have to strain his hurt shoulder. Thus emboldened, she returned to his room and knocked. At his call, she entered.

"Karigan? Is something wrong?"

She put the jar in his hands. "You need to apply this to your injuries you can manage can't you goodnight." Spinning, she hurried out, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it with a sigh. Well, that took care of that. She walked toward her room confidently. By the time she reached her door, however, she was slouched, chewing her thumbnail worriedly. What if he couldn't do it himself? What if he hurt himself more trying?

_I can't do it,_ she argued. It just would be so…just so…. But what if he pulled the stitching?

Groaning, she gave her door a smart kick before dragging her feet back to the king's room. She should just pretend she was one of his servants. She was, wasn't she? Wasn't that what she was trying to prove to him, anyway?

She knocked softly and peered into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the jar next to his leg with a strange expression.

"Do you need help?" she whispered. _Please say no._

For the first time since she'd met him, he looked disconcerted. "I'm not sure. It shouldn't be too difficult." He moved to remove his shirt, but stopped, struggling vainly to cover a pained expression.

Karigan also tried to cover a pained expression. "Here, let me." She settled on the very edge of the bed.

"Karigan, if you're not comfortable – "

"No, no. It's fine. It will help you recover faster."

He looked unconvinced, but turned his back to her after a moment. Taking a deep, quiet breath, Karigan lifted his shirt up to his neck. _Oh, calm down, idiot. You saw it all last night. It's just his back. _

The knife wounds looked irritable – probably because he'd spent too much time moving. The scab on the other gash had cracked and bled afresh. At an attempt to lighten the mood, she said, "You shouldn't have made us go help that boy. You've bled all over yourself."

"Is it terrible?"

"No."

"Oh."

If anything, the mood deepened.

She took a bit of cream on her fingertips and dabbed the first injury with a feather light touch.

"Karigan, I appreciate your caution, but you'll want to get some of the medicine on it, too."

She laughed a little too loudly. "Well, of course." She slapped the ointment on and he spasmed. "Sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Perfectly fine," he whispered. "Just…a little more of your previous caution."

She applied the medicine with a more reasonable pressure. "Where did this come from?" she asked as she carefully maneuvered around the scabbed scratch. She felt – no, that wasn't a shiver. Could it have been a shiver? He wouldn't. Well, maybe, but her hands were probably cold.

"The portcullis," he answered. "I didn't duck soon enough."

"Oh." She replaced the lid on the jar. "All done." She took hold of his shirt.

"Wait – before you…could you…?" He gestured to a nightshirt folded beside the pillows. "It's a bit…difficult."

"Of course." He lifted his left arm. _Oh. _She had to sort of go like…this to get it off that arm, then pull it over his head, then find a way to get it over his right arm without hurting him. Kneeling, she leaned slightly over him to pull the shirt off like…that. She looked down. He looked up, then quickly looked away. Blushing fiercely, she grabbed the nightshirt and reversed the process. As she helped his left arm through the sleeve, his head turned and Karigan became very aware of his mouth, a breath away from hers. For an instant, she froze, her heart thundering, then, regaining some semblance of control, pulled away and let the baggy shirt drop.

"Goodnight," she said, leaping off the bed and rushing into the hall.

Zachary softly closed the door behind her. He dropped his forehead onto the wood and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Karigan G'ladheon" he whispered.


	10. Chapter 10

**Revised (a bit) 5/8/11**

...

"This is the last place I explored before yesterday," Fastion was saying. Mara squinted into the darkness. Dust swirled in the dim light of the Weapon's lantern and she sneezed.

Fastion's low chuckle brought a smile to her face. She'd sneeze a million more times to hear it. The unfamiliar sound was quite preferable to the cold infuriation that emerged when he had woken up and discovered Ben's trick of slipping him a sleeping draught. The sun hung low in the sky before the Weapon opened his eyes. It was all Mara could do to keep him from strangling Ben again. She tried pointing out how much healthier he looked, but he had dismissed her compliment as he quit the provisional Mending Wing.

To Ben and Mara's mutual surprise, he had returned a short time later, apparently deemed unfit for service by his brethren. It was then that Mara suggested her earlier idea. He agreed stiffly, retrieved his uniform, and led her deep into the bowels of castle with hardly a word passed between them. It had taken some doing, but finally she had gotten her first smile out of him. Something about disintegrating tapestries and cobwebs put him at ease.

"Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't clean up these areas and put them to use." He touched the rotted wood of some piece of furniture or another.

"But then what would become of the mystery?" Not that rotting chairs themselves were mysterious, but it was the effect as a whole.

He regarded her thoughtfully. "My feelings exactly."

Mara blushed and she made sure a clump of her wild hair covered the right side of her face. It was fortunate, she thought, that there wasn't much light here, though she couldn't imagine what the long shadows were doing to her features. She tried to keep her left side to the Weapon as much as she could. He'd seen her plainly earlier, of course, but…still.

"What's back here?" she asked as she rounded Fastion in an unnecessary loop and approached a closed door.

"Ah. I had to return to my post before I could explore it." He gripped the handle and sent her that boyish smile she'd come to associate with his rare animation. "I will guess that it is an anteroom, like this one."

She waited for him to open the door, but realized he was watching her expectantly. "Oh!" He wanted her to guess? "Hmm. Ballroom. Obviously."

He rewarded her erroneous guess with another smile and pushed the door open. Together they leaned through the doorframe. The chamber proved to be much as Fastion imagined – similar in size and content to the one they stood in. He looked at her.

She sniffed. "If I had designed this castle, it would have been a ballroom."

He laughed outright and she felt a tingle of delight. Who knew the cold Black Shield had a sense of humor? She watched him as he silently explored the room, making no sound save for the clinking of the lantern. It was incredible, she thought as she followed him, how deliberate each of his movements were. He wasted no energy on unnecessary motions; each footfall seemed to have been planned the moment he walked into the room. Mara knew that despite his absorption in his surroundings, he could respond in an instant – just like a cat. Cool, perpetually composed, and beautiful in his own right, yet harboring fierce instincts. Even his gaze was distinctly feline: unblinking, impassive, relentless. Lethally serene. Treacherously elegant. Mara blinked. She was staring. She was more than staring. Flustered, she turned and absently picked up a bowl from a table.

"Mara, come see this tapestry."

Trying to smother the thrill that sparked in her stomach, she set down her dish and moved to join him. Halfway there, the floor suddenly failed beneath her and she dropped painfully, one leg dangling down in nothingness, her hands scrambling for a hold.

"I think I found the ballroom," she grunted as Fastion darted to her side.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, easing out her leg and lifting her effortlessly to her feet.

Maybe she should pretend her leg was broken. That way, he'd have to carry her back to the Mending Wing. "I'm fine." She winced at a bruised kneecap, but apart from a few scratches, she felt unscathed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just a few scrapes."

He looked unconvinced, but fetched his lantern and tested the area around the hole. "It seems stable enough." Mara wondered if any instability could have kept him from crouching and leaning over the hole like he was. Doubtful.

"The castle was built over itself and other ancient ruins," Fastion mused. He pulled his lantern up with a sigh. "I can't see anything. It must be deep."

"You don't sound too crushed."

He looked at her in surprise, then that boy grin spread across his face. "I'll admit this is very – " The floor rumbled and cracked. He leaped to his feet, but the fissure widened and he disappeared into the gaping hope. Mara danced away from the billowing dust, pressing herself against the wall, eyes wide in the bleak darkness that came as the lantern shattered and extinguished.

When the rumbling stopped, she dropped to her hands and knees and felt around until she found the edge of the hole. "Fastion?" she cried, her voice echoing. "Fastion!"

"I'm – here," was his distant reply. She heaved a sigh of relief.

"Are you hurt?"

A few moments passed before he responded, "Not too badly. I will have quite a variety of bruises, however, and my head – well," he laughed breathlessly, "It's protesting its ill use."

The absolute darkness unnerved her and she belatedly remembered her ability. Coaxing a fire over her missing fingers, she created a small ball, then let it drop. It fell a short ways before snuffing out on rock.

"Can you move?"

"Yes." Mara heard shifting rocks and crunching glass. "The pile I'm on might reach the top. Could you light it up again?"

Mara created a bigger flame and tossed it down. Then she waited, keeping a small flame close as she listened to Fastion's efforts.

"Oh yes," he finally said. "We would have to pull ourselves up a bit, but it wouldn't be too difficult to climb back out."

Mara furrowed her brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you want to come down?"

"Go down? There?"

"Yes, of course."

"We don't have any lanterns."

"Would it be possible for you to use your ability?"

She touched her forehead. "Not indefinitely."

"There are torches back down the hallway we could use."

He was determined. "All right. I'll be back."

Despite her trepidation toward climbing around brittle old floors, as she fetched the torches, she couldn't help but feel a stirring of excitement. Wandering through old hallways was one thing, but delving into forgotten tunnels? She smiled.

Returning to the room, she passed her load to Fastion, then allowed him to lift her down from the ledge. After lighting the torches, they carefully made their way down the pile of collapsed floor, Fastion keeping one solicitous hand on her elbow.

"This architecture is old, but definitely Sacoridian," he said once they were safely on level ground.

"So just an older section of the castle?" Mara couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

"I wouldn't say 'just.'" He ran a hand over a wall. "There used to be a door here, but it's been filled in with stone."

"Over here as well."

Mara raised her torch. The collapsed floor filled one half of the chamber, leaving a narrow hallway as the only other way to go. _Of course the creepy corridor is the only option_, she thought.

"Shall we?" Fastion asked, holding one arm toward the opening. Sending up a prayer that the ceiling didn't collapse on them, she fell into step beside him.

The hallway was a straight shot toward the back of the castle. They speculated on their destination as they walked, then fell into silence as they ran out of guesses. The hall went on and on and on and Mara began feeling trapped in its crushing depth. Fastion must have been equally affected for he stepped closer to her, took her wrist and held it for a short distance, then finally stopped. "Perhaps we should go back," he suggested. "This doesn't seem to lead anywhere."

She could sense his disappointment. "It has too lead somewhere." With a grunt of frustration, she smacked her hand over her ear.

"Something wrong?"

"There's this buzzing my ears that is driving me crazy."

"I've been hearing it as well. It started a little ways back."

Mara frowned. "I just noticed it." She looked at him, suddenly thoughtful. "Your ears are more sensitive than mine. Maybe it's getting louder?"

He blinked, then smiled and nodded. "That may be so." They began walking again, faster this time. To their mutual excitement, the buzzing intensified. Soon, a ring of light appeared ahead. As they grew closer, the ring became a rectangle, framing a heavy stone door. Together, Fastion and Mara pushed against it until it finally gave and grated open.

Light dazzled their eyes as they stepped into the room. They paused, wide gazes startled and fascinated. Every corner glowed with fluid blue, purple, and white lights. "Oh…" Fastion breathed, turning in a circle to take in the water-like colors rippling over the stone walls.

"It's beautiful," Mara whispered. _But so strange._ The light only appeared on the walls, floor, and ceiling, and the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness, with no indication of the source.

"Mara, here." Fastion stood near the center of the room, the yellow flame of his torch clashing with the ethereal colors beyond him. Mara joined him and stared down at what must be the cause of that infernal buzzing, which now rumbled deep in her chest.

A dusty black contraption, no bigger than Fastion's fist, poised on an equally dusty pedestal. It was pyramidal in shape, but with rounded edges and four little feet on which to stand. Four square pieces of glass, one on each of its faces, were windows into the strange black machinations on its inside. It appeared as though the colors came from there – somehow.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he murmured, lifting one gauntleted hand to touch it. His finger left a trail in the dust, exposing a glossy surface beneath.

"We must tell the k – "

"No," Fastion snapped. She looked at him in surprise. No? Why – oh, right. The king was missing.

"The castellan, then. Someone should know about it."

Fastion touched the device again. "Why should we tell anyone?" he said in a half-whisper.

Mara scoffed. "Do you just want to leave it here, then? Where's the point in that?"

"It would be dangerous in the wrong hands," Fastion told her. His eyes darkened. "In a traitor's hands."

A horrible suspicion crept into Mara's mind. "What traitor, Fastion?"

He didn't reply.

"What traitor?" she said in a firmer voice.

"The one that calls himself our king." He looked into her shocked face, one hand reaching for his sword. "And you, Rider."

_Not this again_. As the blade hissed out of its sheath, she swung her torch at his face. She caught him in the ear and he jumped back, dropping his own torch and clutching that side of his head, his light eyes glinting in the flickering flames. Mara held her would-be weapon out before her.

"Don't," was all she could think of to say.

"You will not be returning to the surface," he said, circling her like a predator.

"I'll be missed," she answered.

His cat gaze slid over her. "There was a cave-in. How unfortunate you were caught in it."

"I'll burn you again." She raised her hand, flames licking her short fingers.

He reached down to his leg.

_Throwing knives, _her brain told her. She lobbed the torch at him then turned to find the pedestal in her way. Something clicked in her mind. _The device. _Ignoring Fastion's strangled cry from behind, she closed her hands over it.

Her brooch seemed to explode on her chest. Cold raced up her arms, but flaming warmth shot down. Her mouth opened in a scream as the two sensations collided under her flesh. Distantly, she heard hoofbeats approaching, louder and louder.

The hoofbeats became footsteps. Someone was running. She cracked open her eyes but could see only black. Two powerful arms held her tightly, cradling her against a broad, warm chest.

"Fastion…?" she breathed.

"Be still," he answered. "We're almost out."

She sighed and dropped her head against his uniform, dimly aware that…hadn't he just tried to kill her? Again?

She was jostled as he struggled up the caved-in floor. "Fastion," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Mara. I'm sorry." He lifted her carefully onto the ledge and in a moment, picked her up again.

"The device, Fastion."

"I know."

"It was the device."

"Shhh. We're almost there."

Light infiltrated her eyes and she threw her face into his chest. She could hear voices raised in alarm, and gasps. A second set of running footsteps joined them.

"What happened?"

Someone with a deep, rich voice, like thick chocolate. She liked his voice, but not as much as she liked Fastion's voice.

"Gather the others. I have very important information."

Mara felt herself fading into sweet oblivion. She faintly remembered Fastion stopping and sitting, wrapping her gently up in his arms as anxious voices rose around them. Despite their anxiety, he remained peaceful, the leather of his gauntlet pulling her hair as he touched her cheek. "You're safe," he whispered. "You're safe now."

As sleep overcame her, she realized that his hand was on the right side of her face. And she had worked so hard not to let him see it.


	11. Chapter 11

**The best parts of this chapter are dedicated to LV3950. The worst parts are dedicated to LV3950's detestable library. Cheers.**

…

Fastion watched the other Black Shields from the doorway. It had only taken a few minutes for him to be affected the last time and he scrutinized them for signs of betrayal.

"Is there a way to stop it?" Willis asked, touching the object the same way Fastion had, with one finger. "A way to snuff it out?"

"Such a pity it is so beautiful," someone whispered. Fastion peered through the torchlight. Had that been Tess?

"Those panels are made of glass – perhaps we could break it."

"If we break it we will be unable to study it."

"Do you see the colors?"

Fastion stepped into the gathered group, moving silently among them.

"Why would we keep something that makes us into traitors?" Donal murmured. Fastion clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, keeping one eye on the device and one on his brothers and sisters.

"Crush it and be done with it."

"We need to find a way to stop it without destroying it."

"Do you not remember what it did to us? The innocents we attacked? The king? It must be destroyed."

"The king needs to be made aware of it. It isn't affecting us now – keep it here until he returns."

Fastion lifted his head at a movement at the back of the room. Was that someone leaving?

"When the king returns…" someone whispered. "_If _the king returns."

"He will return. And when that happens, we need to be prepared."

Urgency rushed through Fastion's veins and he began pushing his way toward the doorway. Someone sneaking out. A spy.

"We can move it up to the main floor, perhaps to the throne room. It will wait for him there."

"He will remember the manner of his escape. He will try to sneak into the city."

"We will need to prepare the castle for his return. Any and all insurgents must be…"

"…the Rider. That boy who can see will…"

"…are the only ones who can…traitors are…"

"...whatever is necessary…to..."

The voices faded as Fastion ran down the hallway. He could barely see the shape of someone running ahead of him. Setting his jaw, he ran faster, drawing a knife from the belt around his thigh. The runner scrambled up the collapsed floor and the knife hissed through the air. It clattered harmlessly on the rocks and Fastion blinked. There was no one there, and the rocks were on fire. He shook his head, then looked again. Fire. His arm began to blaze.

He stared at the wooden door in front of his face.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Fastion turned. The Rider-Mender, Ben, had paused in his duties to watch him in concern. "I'm sorry, I thought you came here to see Mara. Is it your head?"

His head? That's right, he'd hurt his head. "Yes," Fastion admitted. "I'm afraid my mind is playing tricks on me." He offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes, knocked, and entered Mara's room.

She was a little ball beneath the bedcovers; only bits of her wild hair peeked out from beneath the blanket. This time, his smile curved his eyes as he knelt beside the bed and pulled the covers off of her face. She shifted slightly, but didn't wake. He wrapped a chunk of her hair around his fingers and concentrated on the freckles dusting her nose as he thought.

He had been in the room with the others. That much was certain. They were talking about…the device. What to do with it. What did they decide? Moving it to the throne room. Or did they decide to destroy it? And then…something…about the king. And traitors. There was…he was chasing someone….

"You're back," Mara murmured sleepily. Fastion hastily unwound the rope of hair from his hand and stood.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized. "How are you feeling?"

She pulled herself up and stretched. "Decent." She smiled up at him, then threw a hand to her head. "Oh! Right! What happened? What did they decide to do?"

Decide?

She peered into his face. "Fastion? The device. What are you going to do about it?"

Fastion looked down. A knife was missing from his gear. He looked back at her. She watched him curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"I couldn't do it," he whispered.

"What?"

"I failed. Again. Mara –"

"What is it?"

He began pacing. "I was down there, and then I was here. Mara, I can't remember anything."

She pulled the covers back and stood, resting a hand on his arm to stop his agitated walking. "You aren't making any sense. Remember what?"

"I don't remember walking from there to here. I couldn't resist the device. It took control of me again. And the others – " He frowned.

"The others? You mean…?"

Somewhere, someone screamed.

…

Alton glanced at the Weapons as he stepped past. Their faces were unreadable, as usual, but he wondered what occupied their thoughts as of late. Their anxiety was particularly keen and seemed to triple the stress already permeating the castle. One could always find them at their old haunts – the king's chambers, outside the doors to his study, and here, at the throne room, as if they still had a king to defend.

The lord sighed and shook his head, then turned his attention to the small group of men gathered on the dais. Lord-Governors Coutre, Mirwell, and Penburn seemed to be in a heated argument, and Castellan Sperren waved his own staff around animatedly. As Alton neared, the topic of the discussion became obvious and he groaned.

"It is the duty of the castellan to assume the responsibilities of the king when he is absent," Sperren said, banging the end of his staff on the stone floor. "Stop this fruitless arguing now."

"And if the king is dead? Is it the duty of the castellan to take his crown?" Mirwell said from his seat on a dais step.

"We have no news of the king's status. The search parties departed mere hours ago."

"And it hasn't even been a day," Alton added. No one seemed to hear him.

"The king is gone, castellan. You are the lesser son of a lesser son. Will Sacoridia truly be placed in the hands of one such as you?" Coutre cooed, resting his narrowed eyes on Sperren's flushed face. "Come now."

"If anything of such importance is to be decided, all the governors must be gathered," Hendry Penburn stated, arms folded, eyes glinting. "Until all of us are here, keep your greedy eyes off the throne."

"Or until the king returns," Alton interjected. Still, he was ignored.

"It would take weeks for the governors to be gathered," Mirwell argued. "The country cannot wait that long for a new leader. No, this must be decided as quickly as possible. Here. Now."

"Do you really think the governors would simply _vote _on who will take Zachary's place? Do you not remember the last time a king passed on without an heir?" Coutre raised his chin. "My daughter –"

"My lord, may I remind you," Sperren said loftily, "that Lady Estora is not queen yet?"

"The laws of king and queen apply only _after _the wedding," Penburn added. "She has as much claim to the throne as the rest of us."

"As the king's future father-in-law –"

"You're more likely to die of old age than get the crown," Mirwell cut in with a wave of a hand. "Speaking of which, isn't it your naptime yet?"

Coutre scowled. "Learn some respect, pup. Remember who you speak to."

Timas Mirwell laughed outright. "Yes, right. How could I forget? You're the oily coot who tossed your blonde-haired baggage right beneath the king's feet."

"See here –"

"Excuse me!" Alton shouted. They all looked at him in surprise. He threw his arms into the air. "I'm sorry. Did I miss a message? Is King Zachary dead?" He cut into their midst, leveling each with a critical gaze. "How dare you debate something that isn't yours to take?"

"Stay out of this, Rider," Coutre snapped. Alton lifted his chin.

"It's Rider Lord Alton D'Yer, if you please."

"What right have you to censor us?" Mirwell demanded. He swept his gaze over Alton's green attire. "You aren't even lord-governor."

"Though I'm sure the king can't wait until you are," Coutre murmured. Alton turned to him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"That is interesting," Mirwell mused. "Zachary's pet Rider governing a province. How convenient. Soon he'll have Hillander, Coutre, _and_ D'Yer under his foot."

Alton's lip curled and before the equally inflamed Lord Coutre could speak, he growled, "D'Yer Province will be governed as it always has been – by D'Yers. Not –" He stopped.

"Not…what? You won't heed the king's guidance? Where does your loyalty lie, then, if not with him?" Hendry watched him closely.

"Don't twist my words, Penburn," Alton snapped. "I don't have to prove my loyalty to any of you."

"If you did, then the D'Yer wall would be repaired." Mirwell scrutinized a fingernail. "What a pity."

Alton felt his face grow hot and he spun on the younger man. No decent counter came to mind, so his face grew hotter as he glared in wordless abhorrence. Sperren, who had watched the argument with increasing distress, waved his staff around again. "Cease this useless fighting at once. Protocol has been established. Until we receive word, I will –"

"You will do nothing. As the eldest here, it is my responsibility to take control." Coutre puffed out his skinny chest.

"I beg your pardon?" Penburn said in obvious astonishment. "I can't even comprehend what could have given you that idea."

"Step down, old man. Let someone less likely to have a stroke take the position."

"Don't get too cocky, Mirwell." Penburn turned to him. "We haven't forgotten the recent events involving a certain queen-to-be."

Timas jumped to his feet, infuriated. "I had nothing to do with that."

"And yet wasn't it one of your servants who told Rider G'ladheon where to go to see – err, something of interest to her?" Alton countered with a wicked smile. "I wonder where he could have gotten that information."

"How dare you," Timas hissed. "I am no traitor."

"You are your father's son."

Timas barely reached Alton's nose, but he was stronger than he looked. Feeling as though a brick had hit his face, Alton tripped back into Penburn. Disregarding the blood gushing from his split lip, the Rider launched himself on the young Mirwellian, all of his pent-up aggression exploding as they toppled down the dais steps.

He managed to land a few hits before hands grasped his waistcoat and lifted him into the air. Timas was similarly restrained, spitting curses through his bloody mouth.

"Enough!"

The voice, stronger than Alton had ever heard it, echoed in the throne room. He immediately sagged and was lowered onto his feet. Timas struggled vainly against the powerful arms of the Weapon that held him until he was finally released. He stumbled away, unbalanced, straightening his clothes and jerking a hand over his mouth.

Lady Estora, her brilliant features strained and angry, stood with a Weapon on either side. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded in an uncharacteristically harsh voice. Before anyone could answer, she swept on. "Look at yourselves. The king isn't gone a day and here you are, tussling like dogs over a bone. It's disgusting."

"Easy for you. You're two steps away from the crown," Mirwell retorted. Estora leveled her piercing gaze on him and he suddenly found a crack in the floor very interesting.

Estora looked down and shook her head briskly before looking at them again. In a softer voice, she continued, "It is Sacoridian law that in the event of the king's absence, the castellan will rule until his return. Can you not respect that?"

"Estora, consider your current position. You could –"

"Stop it," she snapped at her father. He stepped backwards in surprise. "Haven't you done enough already?"

His sagging jaw snapped shut. Mirwell sniggered and Penburn smirked, then seemed to remember himself and passed a hand over his face, pacing away from the group.

"Shame on you," Estora said. "Shame on all of you." With an imperious gesture at the Weapons, she turned and left the room, her father hurrying to catch up with her. Sniffing, Castellan Sperren exited through the king's door behind the throne.

"Here," Penburn mumbled, holding out a handkerchief. "I apologize for my words." Alton took it and pressed it against his mouth, ignoring Timas Mirwell's murderous glare.

"The same."

"I say, release me!" Lord Coutre's upraised voice drifted to them from the hallway. The three young men stared at the empty doorway. "Estora! No, Estora! Protect _her_!"

The king's door opened and a group of Weapons marched into the chamber, their faces stony.

"What's happening?" Penburn asked.

"You must come with us."

Timas Mirwell, closest to them, was seized. "Let me go, damn you!" he shouted, writhing in their grips as they dragged him out of the room. "Do you know who I am? How _dare _you treat me like this? I said, _let me go_!"

Penburn exchanged a dismayed look with Alton as he was also grabbed. His split lip forgotten, Alton backed away from the three Weapons that closed in on him, their swords drawn.

"_Rider_," one of them spat.

"Really!" Alton shouted as they charged him. He threw up his hands and they collided with an invisible wall. They composed themselves quickly, almost mechanically, and chased the Rider as he bolted through the king's door.

He passed a restrained Castellan Sperren, slipping just out of the reach of his captors. Gods, why was this happening again? He skidded to a stop when a line of Weapons appeared ahead of him. He looked over his shoulder. More Weapons. _I'm going to die_, he thought.

The recently arrived Weapons drew their swords and charged…right past him. He spun as the two groups fell into heated battle. He watched, horrified and entranced by the lethal grace with which they fought each other.

"My lord D'Yer," one of them shouted. "Run!"

Jolted out of his trance, Alton turned and ran. The castle had gone mad. Again.

…

"They're guarding it like they guard the king," Mara hissed. Fastion grunted in response. They stood in the shadows of the anteroom, peering down the collapsed floor at the only hallway leading to the device. Two Weapons stood at attention at the opening and two others soon appeared.

"Patrol," Fastion whispered, slipping back. Mara followed.

"What are you planning?" she asked.

"We go to the tombs," Fastion replied. "If the guards down there are still loyal, their numbers will be invaluable." He took one last glance over his shoulder before hurrying down the hallway.

_Invaluable, indeed, _Mara thought, hearing the murmuring voices of the patrol. She fell into step behind him

After a moment, she asked, "Why aren't you being controlled, like them?"

"I was."

"But not now. And before, when I grabbed the device, you didn't kill me. You saved me."

He was silent as he jogged. "Fire," he finally said.

"What does that mean?"

"I saw fire in my mind. My arm began burning and that is when I snapped back to reality." He didn't look, but he did reach one hand behind him. Mara took it, biting a smile, and allowed him to pull her along the hallway.

They entered a chapel and Fastion led her through a few anterooms to a curtained door. "No guards," he murmured to himself. Mara took his torch and watched him press a series of stones in the wall. He grabbed a heavy metal ring and pulled.

Two gleaming sword tips were against his neck in an instant. Mara smothered a gasp, but kept herself hidden on the other side of the open door.

"What is your business?" a voice growled.

"I seek Brienne Quinn."

"Brienne Quinn is a traitor. She and her followers have barricaded themselves in the Heroes Portal."

Mara stared at Fastion and his eyes moved toward her almost imperceptibly. "You cannot overcome her?"

"Those that are with her are many. What is your business with her?"

_Careful_… Mara thought.

"There are traitors aboveground as well," Fastion replied. "I came seeking assistance."

"We cannot help you now. I am sorry." The door swung shut and Mara heard sliding and clicking as it locked.

Mara leaned against the wall. "Wonderful." She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead.

Rubbing his neck, Fastion wandered to her side. "Are you well? I would have left you in the Mending Wing, but –" He frowned. "Well."

She smiled. "I know. And don't worry, they won't hurt Ben – his ability is too valuable." She twisted her head to look at him. "Now what do we do?"

He returned her gaze. "Now I fear we are on our own."


	12. Chapter 12

…

She was collecting seashells again. Zachary watched her with a smile, blissfully unaware of his injuries. That is, until he tried to shift his position. Then it hurt. Yes, hurt…just like that. He held himself as still as he could until the pain subsided.

"Are you all right?" Karigan called.

"Perfectly fit," he lied. She considered him doubtfully, then bent down to dig in the sand. Her face glowed with something he hadn't seen in years and he strove to etch it into his memory. She looked almost like a girl, not the seasoned, dark warrior he'd seen come out of the tombs. And here, on this island, she was just a girl, and he was just a man.

In his mind, anyway.

"Majesty," she said breathlessly, dropping to her knees in front of him, "look at these." She held out a handful of sandy shells. He looked obediently and made the appropriate responses, but his eyes drifted to the sunlight blazing red in her hair and splaying across her lips.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

"Do you see the purple in this one?" She pushed one out of the pile. He touched it, then trailed his fingertips over her long fingers. Her hand was instantly snatched away. Shells plopped into the sand.

"I'll go find some more." She hurried away. Zachary let out a sigh. Never in the farthest reaches of his dreams did he ever imagine this – being together, alone, with her, no one demanding any explanations, no expectations, no duties. He could almost pretend he had no responsibilities here, and he would enjoy it as best he could.

_Thump._

Zachary doubled over, wheezing and gasping as his injuries yanked in his back. Black dots splattered in his vision.

"Hey!" Karigan's voice, angry. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry! I did'n mean to hit him." A child.

Zachary raised his head and peered at his would-be attacker. A girl, no older than four or five, peered back at him with watery blue eyes and a pouty lower lip. He held out the ball that had come to rest in his lap after knocking the air out of his lungs. "Is this yours?"

She took it from him. "I'm really sorry."

"Apology more than accepted." He struggled to stand and Karigan ran to help him, throwing an arm around his waist and hooking his elbow over her neck. He decided to sit and stand more often. The girl watched the process, amused.

"Don't you know how to stand on your own?" She puffed out her chest. "I could walk before I was one years old."

"Very impressive," Zachary said through his teeth, his breath hissing as his injuries throbbed.

"You're probably just getting old, like my mama. She's _really _old. She can't even walk up the stairs without her knees hurting. And her back." She furrowed her brow. "You look like you're hurting too. Me 'n Terry were only playing, honest. And if you hadn't been sitting there, you wouldn't've gotten hurt." She frowned at the king. He chuckled.

"I'll be more careful next time."

"_You _should be more careful next time," Karigan scolded. The girl's pouty lip trembled.

Zachary leaned to Karigan's ear. "It was an accident, merely," he whispered. She looked at him in some surprise, then reddened.

"Of course it was. I'm sorry, I was just – upset." She crouched so she was eye level with the girl. "What's your name?"

Immediately, the girl brightened. "I'm Emmi." She looked at them suspiciously. "Who are you? I've never seen you before and I know _everyone _on the island."

"I'm Karigan and this is – Zachary. We're not from this island."

Emmi gaped. "You mean…you're from the other side of the ocean? Past the sun?" She pointed.

With a laugh, Karigan turned her about. "From over there, past the moon."

"Have you seen the king's castle?"

They exchanged a look. "Yes, we've seen it."

Emmi gasped in delight. "Have you seen the Black Weapons?"

Amused, Karigan answered, "Yes, we have."

Emmi put down her ball so she could strike a pose. "I'm going to be a Black Weapon when I'm older." She deflated. "Only, my brother says I can't go over the ocean. He says that I'll be caught and sucked in by the waves and drowned in the deeps of the sea." Suddenly, she turned and shouted, "Terrier!"

_Terrier?_

A dog, bigger than Emmi and far larger than any terrier Zachary had ever seen bounded toward them, tongue lolling and slobber trailing in the wind behind him. He came to a stumbling stop and proceeded to lick every bit of skin he could reach.

"This is Terry. He's going to be a Hilland Terrier when he's older." The dog's ancestry was suspiciously inscrutable, and judging by his matted hair and the limp in his back legs, he was already far past 'older.' Despite it, Emmi threw her arms around his body. "They'll call me Hero Black Weapon Emmi and he'll be Hero Terrer. We're going to save the king's life a lot when we grow up." She beamed proudly at the dog. Touched, Zachary reached down and ruffled Terrier's ears.

"You will make a wonderful Weapon. And Terry will make a – err, very special terrier."

Emmi stared at him. "Zachary…" she said. He looked up. "You're very handsome."

Karigan snorted, then threw a hand over her mouth. Zachary smiled blankly. "Thank you."

Emmi continued to gaze dreamily at him. "Maybe I can be your Black Weapon."

"They're called Black _Shields_, Emmi, and didn't Mama tell you not to talk to strangers?"

The voice belonged to a gangly young teenager, one with the same watery blue eyes and curly brown locks as Emmi. He frowned at Karigan and Zachary as he approached. "Who are you?"

"Mat! They're from over the ocean! They've been to the castle _and _saw the Black Weapons."

"Shields, Emmi." He picked up her ball. "I've heard of you. You're the ones staying with Rena and her husband." He lifted his chin and looked at them as if from a great height. "You're the ones that helped Dagon Spinter yesterday, aren't you?"

"What of it?" Karigan snapped, irritated by his condescending tone.

Mat shrugged. "Just that…well, you probably shouldn't have done it." He smiled knowingly. "You should try to avoid the other villagers. You didn't exactly impress them."

Emmi reached out and took Zachary's hand. She tugged until he crouched painfully in front of her. Fixing her eyes on his face, she said, "Mama says that they do bad things...with _magic._ You need to stay away from them. I don't want you to get hurt again." Turning to her brother, she explained, "I hit him with my ball." She turned back to Zachary. "Please don't get in trouble with them."

"I'll be very careful," he promised, standing slowly and very grateful for Karigan's support. Emmi, however, didn't let go.

"Promise me you won't get hurt," she begged, clutching his hand with both of hers, gazing into his face with abject adoration. Zachary sent Karigan a sidelong look.

"I promise."

Mat snatched his sister's hands. "Time to go, Emmi." He leveled Zachary with a warning glare and pulled Emmi away. "Come, Terrier."

The big dog, who had been happily drooling on Zachary's boots, heaved his body up and trotted unevenly after his masters. Emmi turned and waved. Zachary and Karigan waved back.

A heavy silence fell between them, until Zachary said, "At least I have one Weapon that is still loyal to me."

Karigan laughed outright. "And a new dog to add to your kennel."

Zachary grinned and began walking. Karigan fell into step beside him. "Magic," she said, picking up a shell.

"Superstition," Zachary replied, taking it from her.

"The boy did have a tattoo." Karigan took it back.

"We didn't see it clearly." He watched her smooth the sand off its opalescent surface. "However, any hint of Second Empire is worth investigating." He stroked his beard as he thought. "We can't be prying, however. If they do have something to hide, then his family will be on their guard."

"We can go under the pretense that we want to see how Dagon is going along. He was badly beaten, after all."

Zachary smiled in approval. "Rena will most likely know where they live."

"And if she has the same suspicions as everyone else on this island, she'll forbid us from going. You – " she started, dropping the shell into the sand, " – should be resting. If you pulled your stitching, Rena will bite my head off."

"I _was _resting," he protested. However, he didn't protest when she checked his back for fresh blood.

"The sooner you heal the sooner we can get back to Sacor City and solve whatever happened there. That is, of course, if that pleases Your Majesty."

"What would please me…" he said, meeting her eyes. She stiffened. "…would be to exercise Night Hawk and Condor today. It's a beautiful day for a ride. We could – ah – meet some of the locals?"

A knowing look came into her eyes. "Just a ride."

"That's all."

"No trotting."

"Oh, gods, no."

"And if we were to happen upon Dagon Spinter's home…"

"We would just inquire after his general health."

"Just a simple inquiry."

"Nothing more."

"We'd be back at Rena's by sunset?"

"By suppertime."

Karigan twisted her lips as she thought. "Fine. But we still need to find out where he lives so we can plan our – ride accordingly. Rena's smart. She'll know what we're trying to get out of her."

Zachary smiled coyly. "Leave Rena to me. She won't know what she told me."

Karigan had no doubt about that. They exchanged a conspiratorial smile as they turned toward the house.

…

The Spinter house huddled a little ways from the edge of a sea cliff. It peeked at the visitors through the shuddering copse of trees. Karigan and Zachary exchanged a look. "Creepy," Karigan murmured. Zachary watched her easy dismount enviously. Mounting Night Hawk had been a whole affair of its own and he didn't look forward to getting back off.

Karigan came around to his left leg. "Ready to come down?"

Zachary took a steadying breath, pulled his right foot out of the stirrup, and dragged his leg over Night Hawk's rump. The wound at the base of his back screamed furiously at him. He jerked his leg the rest of the way over, toppling away from the horse into Karigan's ready arms, and the pair of them dumped onto the dirt.

Karigan held him tightly as his body convulsed with pain, barely audible whimpers emanating from his mouth. All the pain, the anger, the betrayals bubbled up in her throat and she fought tears as she pressed his head into her chest. Her fingers curled into his hair.

He clutched her in a vise, trembling, and she tried to soothe him, praying he hadn't injured himself further. Finally he slumped into her lap, his gasps diminished into rattling breaths. "How…" he breathed, his hand tightening and releasing her arm weakly, "…embarrassing."

Karigan snorted. "It really is," she whispered. "But not many people are as graceful as me."

He chuckled and the sound reverberated deep in her chest. Her fingers uncurled and combed through his amber hair, just once. He shifted and she felt his face raise toward hers. A very familiar need to run shouted at her, but she couldn't. Literally, because his weight pressed her legs into the ground, but also because he was her responsibility. If she left, he would be alone. No protection. That would be unacceptable.

She had no choice.

"You've trapped me," she muttered.

His hand crept over her sleeve and shoulder, his fingers sifting through her hair until they caressed the back of her head. He pulled her head down and their lips touched –

"Hey!"

Karigan jerked her head up and Zachary's hand fell. A man came toward them from the house, his face a mask of confusion. He stopped, took in their position, and smiled. "I never saw our little road as a lovers' getaway, but I guess when the need takes you, it takes you."

Karigan's face flamed.

"My horse threw me," Zachary said. He reached out a hand. "Mind?"

The man hoisted him up and Zachary grasped Night Hawk's mane to keep from collapsing again. "You too?" Before Karigan could answer, the man grabbed her wrists and jerked her up.

"What brings you to our cliff?" the man asked, taking the horses' reins. With an expressive wink at Zachary, he added, "Other than – well, you know."

Karigan stared at her feet. She heard Zachary reply, "We've come to see how Dagon is doing. We witnessed his beating yesterday."

"Oh! Are you the ones that helped him? What a pleasure!" He turned and shook their hands briskly. "Fedir Spinter. I'm Dagon's father. Come. You must come in." They reached the house. "I'll take care of your horses. Go right on in."

Karigan followed Zachary up the wooden staircase. She forced her eyes up from her feet. "Your back," she gasped. "You're bleeding!"

He leaned against the door. "I'm fine," he replied.

"Um, no." She took his arm. "We shouldn't have come. I knew we shouldn't have come."

"Breyan's gold! Your horse really did throw you. Inside, inside, quickly." Fedir ushered them in and guided them to a small kitchen. Zachary was settled into a chair and rags and hot water were gathered. Fedir thrust the cloth into Karigan's hands. "Please, start. I'll fetch my wife. She's a mender."

He hurried out of the room. Karigan pushed his shirt up and gritted her teeth. The stitching had torn through his skin and the little bit of healing that had begun was shredded.

"Stupid," Karigan muttered, pulling the thread out. "This was stupid."

"It was my idea."

"I'm here to protect you from your stupid ideas," she snapped, wiping away the rivulets of blood.

"My ideas are never stupid."

Karigan scoffed. "Please."

The door opened and Dagon Spinter crept into the room. His lip was scabbed and one eye swelled angrily, but he appeared otherwise healthy. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"We came to see how you were doing," Karigan snapped, hurriedly rinsing the blood out of the rag. Dagon's hands were thrust deep into his pockets. The king looked over his shoulder and Karigan's eyebrows raised imperceptibly in response.

"I'm fine. You shouldn't have come." He eyed Zachary's injuries. "What happened to you?"

"My horse threw me."

Dagon frowned. "Onto spikes? Those are very small wounds to be bleeding so much."

"They were…very sharp rocks."

"Liar. My mum's a mender. I'm not stupid. There isn't any bruising around them and those threads say that they were stitched once. Who did that to you?"

"Why were those men beating you on the beach?" Karigan retorted.

"That's none of your business."

"Then these injuries are none of your business."

He glared at her. She glared back.

"Don't get into a contest, my friend," Zachary told him. "You'll lose."

A tall woman entered the room next, carrying a bag of supplies. She was lighter than her son and husband, with sandy hair and green eyes. Her husband must have been somewhere in his fifties, but her porcelain skin was ageless, stretched over elegant cheekbones, framing elegant lips.

"Please, move aside," she said in a soft, alto voice. Karigan did so, shocked to find such a fine lady on a fishing island. Zachary seemed similarly entranced. He didn't even wince when she began stitching the wounds. "These were torn when your horse threw you?"

"Yes," he answered.

"They're very recent. I hope they didn't happen on our island."

"Err – no. They happened on the way."

"Mmm."

"Marli, these are the people that helped Dagon yesterday."

Karigan jumped. She hadn't noticed when Fedir came in. Marli pushed her hair out of her face and smiled. Elegantly.

"You have my thanks."

"Anyone would have done the same," Karigan mumbled, blushing. Zachary smiled proudly at her.

A significant look passed between Marli and Fedir. "You might be surprised," Marli responded, tying off the stitches and readjusting the king's shirt. "Dagon, go fetch a clean shirt."

The boy slunk out of the kitchen, his hands still in his pockets. Zachary thanked the mender and, with a glance at Karigan, ventured, "We're not from here and we were actually curious as to why the men would beat an unarmed boy like they did."

"Fear," Marli growled, gathering her supplies. "Ignorant superstition. They channel their own stupidity through violence because they're afraid of what they don't know."

"Now, Marli, don't – "

"No, Fedir. I'm tired of it." She threw her hand up and there it was – a black tree, tattooed on her palm. Zachary stood quickly and Karigan stiffened. Marli watched them carefully, then smiled. "Ah. You recognize it."

"Second Empire," Karigan said, her eyes flashing. "Mornhavon's followers."

Fedir stepped in front of his wife. "Marli was born into one of their families. Her mother took her away. She's not involved with them anymore."

"Really."

Zachary stepped forward. "The villagers seem as convinced as Karigan. We noticed a similar marking on Dagon's hand – could that be why he was beaten?"

Marli furrowed her brow. "Dagon doesn't have a marking."

"My son is not Second Empire," Fedir emphasized. "It must have been blood, or a bruise."

Karigan opened her mouth, but Zachary rested a hand on her shoulder. "It must have been," he said, giving her a warning look. "I apologize. This is a poor way to repay your kindness."

Marli smiled. "Think nothing of it."

Dagon reappeared, holding a wad of cloth. He thrust it at Zachary, who took it with thanks.

"Will you be staying for supper?" Fedir asked, slapping a hand on his son's back.

"Oh, well, we were actually just out riding and decided to stop by. To see how you were doing." Karigan smiled at Dagon. His hands were back in his pockets.

"Riding? Oh no. Not with your back. Fedir has a wagon that can carry you." Marli frowned in a way that put Karigan in the mind of Master Mender Destarion. "You need to rest. No riding. No walking, even."

Zachary blinked. "No – walking?"

"Guess that means we're not staring at the ocean anymore," Karigan said, trying to keep the jubilance from her voice.

"And no more collecting seashells for you," he replied.

"I think I'll manage to carry on."

He turned. "So I'm expected to lounge around while you…?"

"Ride on the beach with Condor every morning until the day you can dress yourself."

He considered her with a slight smile. She held his gaze, then looked away with a blush.

Fedir, who had watched the exchange with amusement, said, "I can help you two back to the road."

Marli pulled a jar from her bag and handed it to Karigan. "Put this on the wounds."

Inwardly, Karigan groaned. This again.

"Come help me hitch the horses. Marli, help the gentleman change his shirt." Fedir took Karigan's elbow and led her out of the house. They went around to the stables, where Condor and Night Hawk munched happily on grain. Fedir proceeded to lead a beefy white gelding out into the yard where a cart waited. Karigan followed for a bit, leaning on the stable walls to watch. She took a deep breath, recalling the scent of the castle stables, of the snuffling Rider horses, of the hay….

She frowned. There was something else. Something she shouldn't be smelling. Fedir was busy hitching the cart, so she stepped back into the stable. Condor and Night Hawk gazed at her as she snooped around the stalls. Gods, what was that? Awful, that was for sure, but familiar. Too familiar.

She put her hands on her hips and drummed her fingers against her belt. Not in any of the stalls. Fedir's incessant talking drifted to her from behind and she continued her hunt, climbing up a ladder to the loft.

"Karigan?" Zachary's voice from below. "What are you doing?"

"Give me a second." She grabbed the edge of the floor and hoisted herself up to peer into the loft.

A half-rotted corpse gaped back at her, a dagger still in its holey neck.


	13. Chapter 13

**Revised 5/11/11**

…

Karigan leapt to the floor, knees buckling as her feet smacked against the wood.

"Karigan! What are you doing?"

She dragged herself up, grabbing fistfuls of Zachary's sleeve. "Up there – it's dead. It's all rotted and dead and there's a knife in its neck."

"Kari – what? What are you talking about?"

"Is there trouble?" Fedir watched them curiously. Karigan whirled around to face him.

"There's a rotting body up in the hayloft," she accused. The men stared at her. She looked from one to the other. "Well?"

"I'll – uh – check it out." Fedir climbed up the ladder, peered around the loft, then shrugged down at them. "There's nothing up here." He began his descent.

"What?" Karigan tugged Zachary's sleeve. "Of course he wouldn't see anything – it's his hayloft," she hissed.

"Karigan, I don't – "

"Please?"

Acquiescing, Zachary inched up the ladder, keeping his right arm tucked carefully against his stomach. Karigan held her breath, releasing it only when the king looked down with a lost expression.

"There's nothing up here, Karigan."

_What? _"That-that's impossible. There has to be. It was right there, in my face."

Zachary looked again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry." He climbed down. Karigan rushed back up. It was just as they said – there was nothing. No body, no bloodstains, no bent piece of hay. She thumped her elbow on the loft and dropped her head in her hand.

"It was here. It was…awful." She twisted around. "You can't smell it?"

The men sniffed. "No…"

Neither could she, now that she thought about it.

Down below, Zachary leaned toward Fedir. "I'm very sorry," he whispered. "Our coming to this island happened under great strain. Karigan has also been witness to some unsettling things. The combination…"

"I understand."

Zachary studied his face. He was upset. Understandably so. Karigan thumped down the ladder. She raised a bewildered face and sighed. "I-I thought I saw it," she mumbled.

"I will take you as far as the main village." Fedir slouched out to his cart.

Zachary watched him, then turned as Karigan readied Condor. She avoided his gaze, saying as she cinched up the saddle, "You should take Night Hawk's tack out to the cart."

"Karigan – "

She turned. "I know what I saw, Za – Your Majesty. Now I don't know where it went, but I know it was there."

He rested a hand on her shoulder. "I believe you, Karigan. After all you've done I'd be a fool not to." He smiled, touching her cheek with his thumb. She held his gaze, then turned back to Condor. Zachary dropped his hand. "We'll speak more when we're – not here."

He lifted the tack from the hook and instantly dropped it again, grimacing. Karigan slipped the horses' leads into his hand and took his load for him.

"I must ask, why did you climb up to the loft in the first place?" Zachary followed her out to the cart.

"I smelled it. Barely, but it was there. I wanted to find out what it was."

Zachary frowned. "Shouldn't a rotting corpse smell a bit more than 'barely'?"

Karigan dumped the tack into the cart and looked at him, about to speak. After a moment, her mouth closed. "You're right." She rounded Condor and mounted, taking Night Hawk's reins. "You're right."

…

"Did you notice anything about it? Any identifying clothing or items?"

They stood in the town square, watching Fedir drive away. Karigan sighed as she turned to begin walking. "I was preoccupied with the rotting flesh. How is your back?"

"I can't feel it, actually. The medicine Marli put on seems to have numbed the injuries." Zachary stretched his spine. "Quite a mender."

"She must be the only mender on this island, which would explain why they summoned a midwife to help you."

Zachary stopped walking. Night Hawk's nose bumped into his head. "A midwife?" he echoed. "They brought a midwife?"

Karigan looked at him with a small smile. "Yes. Is that offensive?"

He recommenced walking. "No, not at all."

"They know how to stitch – "

"Of course. So this corpse. You smelled it, searched the stalls, climbed up the ladder."

"And there was the body, right next to the ladder with a dagger in his neck."

"His?"

"What?"

"You know he was male."

Karigan frowned. "Yes…he was."

"Mmm."

After a moment, Karigan said, "Maybe I've finally cracked. After everything I've seen, my mind has finally failed me."

Zachary laughed. "I doubt that very much."

"Then where did the body go? I saw it, smelled it, but it wasn't really there."

"Do you remember the expedition to Eletia?"

Karigan closed her eyes. Did she remember it? As if she could forget. "Yes."

"You were the only one to feel the danger there. It's very possible a similar thing is happening now." He gave her a lopsided smile. "The rest of us are just less sensitive."

That didn't explain why the body disappeared for her as well as him, but she warmed at his reasoning. They fell into silence as they paced through the strangely quiet village.

"Where is everyone?" Karigan finally asked, peering at the surrounding houses.

"Karigan! There you are!"

The setting sun gave Trev a long shadow as he bounded toward them. "Where have you been?" he said breathlessly. "You have to come down to the beach."

"Why? Is something wrong?" _Not another fight, I hope_.

"Oh no, nothing of the sort. There's a full moon tonight and every full moon we have a celebration down on the beach, for Aeryc. We've been waiting for you for hours. Mama wanted you to help cook the stew." He leaned in. "Lucky you were gone." He leaned away. "Anyways, there's dancing and music and food and drink. Not that papa will let me have any." He took Condor and Night Hawk's leads. "Let me take care of your horses. You go right down."

He led the horses away, stopping to call over his shoulder, "By the way, Karigan, Rich won't ask it himself, but he wants a dance with you." He winked and smiled before disappearing.

"How old is Rich?" Zachary inquired casually as they headed toward the beach.

"Are you jealous?" It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Zachary looked at her sidelong.

"Have I reason to be?"

She pushed back her hair in agitation. _Remember your place, Kari_. But…she couldn't help it. "Rich is probably around fifteen. I only have to wait a few years for him. You, on the other hand, will be in your…fifties? when Emmi is old enough. Assuming she'll still have you." She flashed her dimples at him and had no idea how close she came to being swept up and kissed.

"Assuming…what? What reason would she have _not _to accept me then?"

"Just that, well, when you're that old..." She waved a hand. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything. You're the king of Sacoridia and she's a common girl from the coast. She would have no reason not to…." The irony of her words struck her and she looked away.

"I see. Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we?" He flashed her a smile and crouched down. Seemingly coming out of nowhere, Emmi shamelessly launched herself into Zachary's arms, squealing with glee. "You have to dance every dance with me, okay?"

"_Every_ dance?" He looked over his shoulder at Karigan, who tried to smile. "I'm too old to dance every dance." He winked.

"You can stand on my feet," she offered loyally, "when you get tired."

Zachary stood, balancing the girl on his side. She chattered incessantly at them as they made their way to the beach. Five bonfires blazed on the sand, silhouetting the groups of people surrounding them. A wooden platform had been constructed near the beach stairs and a few musicians were busy tuning their instruments. Tasty aromas drifted along the smoke and ocean breezes, filling the air with what Karigan could only describe as _home_.

Dancing had already begun by the time the threesome descended the stairs. Despite her claim on all of Zachary's attention, Emmi wriggled out of his arms and raced across the sand to join a rowdy group of children.

"Karigan! Zach!" Rena's husband clapped their shoulders. "Good to see you here! There's food on those tables over there. Rena cooked that big pot of stew, so you better try it or she'll kick you out of the house." He winked.

"So it's true then, Ainsley. These two magic lovers are staying at your house."

Ainsley shook his head and said while turning, "Show a little respect for our guests, please, would you Potts?"

Potts, sporting Karigan's signature all over his left eye, glowered as well as he could. "Guests from the Mainland? Them's evil over the ocean. Tainted they are, by Mornhavon. Is why they protected that Spinter devil." He leaned in. "Brought their evil to align themselves with the Spinters."

Zachary placed a calming hand on Karigan's shoulder and said, "We merely mediated an unfair fight."

"Don't you throw your uppity jawbreakers at me. Merely mee-dee-tated, my wife's corset. You've done nothing but cause trouble since you come." He cast his eyes over Karigan's apparel and a leer spread across his face. "Some of the king's messengers, eh? Don't you know what happens to them when the king sends them to this island? They disappear. That's what happens. How'd you like to disappear?"

"How'd you like another black eye?" Karigan replied sweetly. Potts's leer disappeared and he spat his tobacco at Zachary's feet before sauntering away.

"I'm sorry for that." Ainsley scratched his tuft of hair. "You'll find simple folk have simple minds." He shrugged with a smile.

"What did he mean about Green Riders disappearing?" Zachary asked. Ainsley waved a hand vaguely.

"Just some old stories. People here like to be left alone, without Sacor City's bothering them, so they made up some tales to scare the messengers away." He grinned. "Obviously didn't work on you two. Gonna gather the taxes tonight?"

"Ainsley, we aren't here for – "

"I know, I know. Just pulling your legs. You're welcome at our home as long as you like, no matter why you're here. Always good to have fresh faces around here. Now, please, go get some food, stomp around a bit to the fiddles, and get drunk. If you see Trev with a pint, though, send him straight to me. Boy's trying to grow up too fast." Ainsley wandered off, leaving Zachary and Karigan standing awkwardly at the edge of the gathering.

"There's your ardent suitor," Zachary said, gesturing. Karigan followed his gaze and grinned at Rich, whose face flamed.

"Are you going to dance?"

Zachary shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, I don't think so. Not with my back."

Karigan threw up her hands. "What am I even thinking? You practically tore yourself open today. You need to go and rest. No celebrating for you tonight."

"No, no. I really can't feel any pain at all. I'd like to just sit and mingle." Deliberately misinterpreting the reason for her frown, he continued, "I don't recognize any of these dances." He watched the animated dancers with some trepidation. "I'm afraid I'd make a fool of myself."

Karigan laughed. "Is that it? They're really not that much different than court line dances. Just…more jumping and stomping and clapping. And yelling." She smiled. "If you feel like an idiot, then you're doing it right." She frowned. "But no dancing. You'll hurt yourself."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't do that. I'm going to go give Rich a dance. You eat and _sit_. When I'm done, we'll go back to Rena's so you can get to sleep." Her eyes moved past his head. "But who knows, maybe one of those young maidens will claim you before Emmi or I can." With a wave of her hand she was gone, hurrying to Rich and pulling him into the center of the bonfires.

_Young maidens? _Zachary turned and heard distinctly feminine giggles. With a smile and a nod, he walked past the tight group of girls, feeling their eyes follow him all the way to the tables. He gritted his teeth as he took up a bowl.

"Zachy!" Rena bustled up beside him and took the empty bowl from his hands. She peered into it, then shook her head. "You don't eat enough. I give you food." He watched in mounting despair as she loaded the bowl with spoonful after spoonful of food. Dropping a roll on the top of the pile, she passed it back to him. "You want drink?"

"Oh, no, this is – "

"I get you a man's drink." She filled a mug and thrust it into his other hand. "How is back?"

"Wonderful."

"Good. You will dance with your lady tonight, yes?"

"Ah, my, uh – what?"

"Your Kari. You dance together, yes? Or you go back to house early. We won't disturb you two." Before Zachary could register her words, she moved on to a new subject, "Don't worry about townspeople. They just angry because your dainty love crushed all the men."

"My – _dainty _– "

"Will name first daughter Rena, yes? I saved your life. If son, then Ainsley. Husband helped." She patted his cheek. "You need to trim beard. Eat everything." Then she was gone.

Zachary wandered to a small, weedy hillock. "My dainty love," he muttered as he sat, then chuckled. "Dainty Karigan." He laughed loudly and took a drink. It flamed in his mouth and he succumbed to racking coughs. Wheezing, he peered at the bitter liquid Rena had given him. What was this stuff?

A familiar laugh brought his head up. Karigan clung to Rich's hands as they skipped down the line of dancers. Zachary smiled. There was that glow again. Karigan hooked arms with the boy and they swung around in a few wild circles. Here she was completely in her element; this is what she grew up with. Never mind the glares she received from more than one onlooker – this was her world. No politics, no mincing words or masks. No life-threatening duties or disaster looming in the distance. Here she was Karigan G'ladheon, merchant.

Zachary's smile faded. She didn't belong in his world. He threw back another gulp and squeezed his eyes shut at the blaze.

"What do you think of our island ale?"

Zachary looked up. A heavy man stood over him, shadowed by the full moon hanging behind him. "It is…distinctive," the king responded.

The man guffawed and settled down beside him. "Peels your flesh on the way down, but warms you right up like another man's wife." He grinned. Zachary frowned. The loutish man stuck a hand out. "Mickey Morriseen, if you please."

"Zachary."

"Just Zachary? No family name with that?"

Zachary waved a hand and took another drink. "Not one worth mentioning." Perhaps it was the effect of the ale, but there was something about this man that put him on edge.

Mickey laughed. "You're entitled to your secrets, Rider, I'll let you have that. I almost didn't believe it when I heard we had visitors from the mainland. Haven't seen outsiders in years now."

In the dance, Karigan whirled around, pausing to search the crowd. Zachary raised his hand and waved. She smiled and returned the gesture before jumping back into the dance.

"That's the little lady that caused all the commotion yesterday?"

"Yes."

"She's a lovely little thing."

Considerably irritated, Zachary stood abruptly. "It was a pleasure, Mickey, but I'm afraid I must – "

"Oh now, now, I didn't mean to get you all worked up. Sit back down and have another drink." Once Zachary had seated himself, Mickey continued, "She belongs to you?"

"Karigan and I are traveling together," Zachary said evenly, swishing the drink around in the mug, regretting the gulps that already warmed his fingers.

"Right, right," the man guffawed, throwing more ale down his throat. "_Traveling_. Two Green Riders come to this island without messages?" He winked grotesquely. "_Right_. Running away from something's more likely."

Zachary examined Mickey's face. His words were slurred and his movements erratic, but his small eyes were sharp and very much alert. Zachary allowed a tight smile. This was a game very familiar to him. "What do you do, Mickey?"

"I'm just a blacksmith. I'll take care of your horse's shoes when you're ready to go home. Where's home for you, anyways?"

Zachary laughed and saluted him with his mug. "Too early in the night for that." He tipped his cup, but didn't swallow anything.

Mickey scrutinized him, then returned the salute. "So it is. You're a smart man, Zachary."

"Thank you. Yourself, I'm sure."

"Smart enough that you should know to stay away from the Spinter home."

Zachary contemplated him. "Oh?"

"I saw you two ride that way today and saw Fedir bring you back. That's a family worth keeping away from."

"How so?"

Mickey emptied his mug. "You met Marli, I'm guessing." When there was no response, he continued, "She's from an evil house. Now, that family left the island a long time ago, but she still keeps up with their strange ways. Fedir tries keeps her secrets secret, but I know better. Poor Dagon. Guess you can't choose what family you're born into."

Zachary took the man's mug. "Let me get you another drink and you can tell me more about these secrets."

…

Karigan pushed her hair out of her face, laughing breathlessly as she backed away from Trev's entreating hands. "I need a rest," she cried, waving him and his friends away. She laughed at their protests, which put her very much in mind of Yates, and set out to find the king. She promised to find him after one dance, but that one dance had become two, then three, then four. Last time she saw him, he was seated over on that little hillock….

He was still there. Karigan approached slowly, disconcerted by the apparent tension between him and his new companion. The man looked like a boor. Nasty veins splintered across his scruffy cheeks and puffy red seemed to bleed out of his eyes. He leaned toward the king, accentuating whatever he was saying with sharp gestures from his thick, blackened hands. As she drew nearer, his voice grew audible in slurred rushes, punctured with coughs and hiccups.

Zachary watched him intently, one hand on his beard, his face studious as though he listened to information of national importance. It was a familiar expression. It meant that not only was he hearing the words, but somewhere in that brilliant mind of his, pieces of some puzzle settled into place.

His eyes came up and he met her questioning gaze with a brief, acknowledging smile before returning his attention to the man.

"You listen to me, Zachary," he slurred. "This is some news you need to take back to King – King – " He gave a sudden hoot. "Zachary! You have the same name as the king!" As hysterical as this fact apparently was, Karigan felt the sudden need to take her king as far away from this man as possible. She moved to Zachary's side, staring down at the man with what she hoped was a warning expression.

Zachary reached for Karigan's hand. "Well, Mickey, your company has been prized," he said. Karigan helped him to his feet, but once he stood he didn't release her hand. It was his turn to be stared at. "I fear we must part, however."

"Oh! This is your Karigan, then, yes?" Mickey wavered to his feet. "Karigan, yeah?"

With a suspicious frown at Zachary, she answered, "Yes. Karigan G'ladheon."

Zachary stiffened. Karigan winced at his painful squeeze of her fingers and the realization of her slip.

"Rider G'ladheon, is it?" Mickey murmured. His small eyes shifted to Zachary's face. "And Zachary with-no-last-name, who shares his name with the king." He grinned toothlessly at them. "What a pair you are."

"Indeed. A pleasure, Mickey." Zachary pulled Karigan away.

"I'm sorry," she hissed. "I wasn't thinking."

He gave a small shrug. "I doubt your name means much to him. The less he knows about us, however, the better."

Stung, Karigan reclaimed her hand. "My father's family lives somewhere on Black Island," she responded coolly. "He may have heard of them."

Zachary blinked, then yielded with a slight bow. "Of course."

Karigan sniffed. "Have you been drinking?" she inquired with suspicion. He avoided her eyes.

"Rena gave me a mug of their ale," he answered.

"Just one?"

"How many dances did you have?"

It was Karigan's turn to look away. She couldn't, however, resist a soft laugh. "It's a celebration, right?" A dimple peeped at him. "And speaking of dancing…" Karigan inexplicably stepped away.

"Zachary!" A small body latched onto his legs, but the smile that beamed up at him was massive. "You have to dance with me!"

Zachary laughed as he tried to disentangle Emmi's arms. "I _have _to?"

"Yes!" she squealed. "You promised!" Only when she had a firm grip on one of his hands did she allow him to walk. "Mama says I have to go to home soon and I said a big 'no!' to all my other s-soo-suitors just for you. _Please_?"

"I'm afraid I don't dance very well."

She patted his hand. "That's okay. They never watch the man. It's always the beautiful lady they look at. Now _come on_!" She pulled him away. He threw a glance over his shoulder and grinned at Karigan, who returned it with a laugh. She watched Emmi drag him into the clearing, then promptly begin instructing him on proper dance decorum. There was a moment of confusion when she realized he was too tall to maintain a suitable frame, but she solved the problem by simply raising her arms. He hoisted her up into the air and her shrieks of delight echoed all around the beach.

Karigan held herself tightly, a sort of wistfulness mushrooming in her chest. She watched him spin the little girl around and around, his laughter just as audible as her squeals. He almost tripped into a fire, but quickly righted himself with a self-conscious glance at Karigan, who snorted with laughter. His grin flashed at her, but it dropped when he turned to see all of Emmi's little friends gathered at his feet, begging for their turn. He complied happily, however, shifting his position as far from the fire as possible.

Karigan lowered herself into the sand, resting her chin on her knees. How wonderful it would be, she thought, to stay like this forever. She wouldn't mind. It would be almost too easy never to return to Sacor City. No one knew where they were. They could be happy, she dared to think. That is, until another king took the throne and their guilt destroyed them. Or until Mornhavon returned and killed them all.

She gave her head a brisk shake. Such gloomy thoughts. She returned her attention to the king. Two boys yanked on his hands, trying to pull him down and…wrestle him? She giggled as he caught one of them under one arm and struggled to snatch the other. They loved him. He would be an extraordinary father.

She dropped her forehead onto her knees, suddenly overwhelmed by all sorts of unwanted emotions. No, she thought. No. She took a shuddering breath. They needed to return to Sacor City. If not for the sake of the country, then for the sake of her sanity. Impatiently dashing away a single, bold tear, she raised her head.

"I surrender!" Zachary cried, each limb laden with at least one small body. "I surrender!" He laughed as they pulled on him relentlessly nonetheless.

Karigan smiled, then noticed a sudden movement at the edge of the clearing. She stiffened, squinting. _Potts_. The man from before. He was plowing straight toward the oblivious king, his face twisted with fury. Karigan scrambled to her feet, throwing sand and dirt every which way. She tripped more than ran toward Zachary, but Potts was closer.

"No!" she shouted. Zachary looked at her in surprise.

"What?" he called back. Karigan made a strangled holler as Potts shoved the children aside, whirled Zachary to face him, and clobbered the king with one meaty fist.


	14. Chapter 14

**Revised 5/11/11**

…

Zachary was finding difficult to keep his bleeding face straight. "I'm fine, really," he asserted for the hundredth time. Rena smacked the side of his head.

"No talk while I help you." She continued dabbing at his swollen cheekbone. Zachary bit his cheeks to keep from smiling and shifted his gaze to Karigan, who paced at the end of his bed.

"What an idiot," she said, also for the hundredth time. "What an idiot! Who goes around punching people like that?"

"You did, when you punched him." Rena smacked his head again.

"That was different. At least I had a good reason."

"In his mind, he had a perfectly good reason." He closed his eyes to accept another smack.

"Please. He was just looking for an excuse to hit you. Simpleton."

"Excuse me."

She rolled her eyes. "Not you. Him."

Rena threw her hands in the air. "I cannot help you, talkety-talkety like this. Kari, you clean him up. I go make breakfast." She bustled out of the room. Karigan sighed and sat in Rena's vacated chair.

"I'm sorry I didn't get there fast enough." She squeezed the water out of the rag and bent forward to wipe away fresh blood. Zachary took the opportunity to study her features at this new, close perspective. Freckles he hadn't ever noticed before dusted her nose and cheeks. There was a light scar near her left eyebrow and a funny cowlick curled the front few strands of her hair. He particularly liked the way she stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. It took a few moments, but he finally realized she had stopped her ministrations and watched him expectantly.

"Oh, quite all right. I should have been more aware."

The dabbing recommenced. "Maybe. It's my duty, however, to protect you. At least all he wanted to do was hit you."

"And I doubt he'll ever make that mistake again." The king looked pointedly down at Karigan's hand. She glanced at her bloody knuckles, then smiled sheepishly.

"I only hit him to keep him from hurting you further. If I was a real Black Shield, he'd probably be dead." She leaned away from him and sighed. "You just have to let it heal, I guess."

He swung his legs off the bed. "I wish he had settled his score privately, rather than knocking me down in front of all those children," he said.

Karigan gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You should have seen Emmi. She threw herself on top of you and declared that if you were dead, she'd die an old maid because she would never learn to love another. It was all we could do to get her off."

"Complete fidelity," Zachary murmured, touching his face gingerly.

"Potts's son was also upset." Her brow puckered. "I probably shouldn't have hit his father in front of him. I was no better than Potts." She frowned at Zachary's elbow, then raised her eyes and smiled in response to his incredulous grin. "What?"

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Punching Potts? Very much so."

Zachary laughed. "I meant dancing."

Karigan sighed. "Poor Rich only made it through that one dance before running away. Not much of your fidelity there. Before I could find you, though, Trev pulled me back in. I'm pretty sure I danced with every single man on the island."

Zachary's smile faded and he absently stroked his beard.

"Probably a couple married ones, too."

The door opened and Rena reappeared. "Here is your breakfasts," she proclaimed, handing Karigan the tray of food. "Because you hurt, I let you eat up here. When you done, I have prepared bath for you." She quit the room.

Karigan smiled after her. "We're lucky," she said, "to have found this place."

Zachary took up a slice of bread. "Extremely." His eyes suddenly became troubled.

Karigan peered into his face. "What is it?"

"That man I spoke to last night – Mickey Morriseen." Zachary glanced at the door, then leaned in toward Karigan. Breakfast forgotten, Karigan imitated the movement. "He told me about the Green Rider that disappeared."

"But…Ainsley said those were just stories."

"Perhaps not. According to Mickey, Fedir Spinter's father had some issues with my father's policies. He attacked and murdered a tax collector shortly after Fedir and Marli were married."

"Oh, Aeryc…" Karigan muttered. "Was he punished?"

"He was taken to Sacor City. My father had him executed."

Karigan nodded, not surprised. "Do you remember this?"

Zachary shrugged a shoulder. "Not by name, but the story is familiar. A Green Rider was sent back to Black Island bearing the news and the father's few possessions."

Karigan shuddered. Death was never a good message to carry.

"Apparently, many of the villagers thought that Marli had cast a spell on her father-in-law. When the Green Rider – a young man – went to the Spinter home to deliver the message, he wasn't seen again."

Karigan blinked. "He disappeared?"

"So it would seem. He might have left by a different route, of course, but everyone was convinced either Fedir had murdered him in a bout of rage or Marli – did something."

Karigan leaned back in her chair, brow furrowed. "The corpse I saw in the hayloft…?"

Zachary realized he was still holding the bread and he dropped it onto the tray. "Assuming that the story is true, Fedir could have stashed his body up there to keep it hidden."

Karigan chewed on her lip, then shook her head. "That can't be right. You met Fedir and Marli with me. They can't be capable of murder."

"I do not believe they are. But a Green Rider was killed, undoubtedly."

Sudden knocking on the door caused them both to jump. "Bath is ready!" Rena shouted through the wood. Karigan stood.

"I'll let you go," she said. "I can help Rena downstairs while I wait." Zachary followed her to the door, holding it open for her. As she stepped out, she paused and turned around. "I just – um – wanted to tell you. When – last night, when you were playing with Emmi and the other – um – children, you were – um – were – " Her courage failed her and she stared at her boots stupidly.

He smiled gently. "I made a fool out of myself, didn't I?"

"No! No, not at all. You were actually – you looked like you were having a lot of fun."

"Especially when I almost fell into the bonfire."

Karigan laughed. "Well, what's more fun than risking death?"

He chuckled. "Risking my life and reputation for the sake of a few smiles."

"You're king, after all," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "You are supposed to remain dignified at all times. I understand." She realized she was leaning against the doorframe and quickly straightened up. Zachary pulled himself back. "Which is preposterous. They expect you to play this part all the time and to not be normal at all. To just do what you are supposed to simply because it is expected of you. To – to not share anything with anyone for fear of exposing yourself, appearing weak, appearing _human_. The whole thing is…unfair…"

She trailed off as she noticed him staring at her. A blush stained her cheeks. "But…" she continued, voice hoarse, "if there were one person with whom you could share…just one…who could understand…"

She found herself leaning back against the doorframe as he moved toward her.

"Zachy, you take bath in ice water, I don't care. I don't want to hear complaining."

Karigan jerked and smacked her head against the wood. She saw Zachary's hands go out to her and she stepped out of his reach. "Rena's right. I'll – uh – see you in a bit." She spun and pounded down the staircase.

…

"Mickey Morriseen is no good," Rena asserted, throwing a ball of dough on the counter. "You no listen to what he say." She began kneading.

Karigan was surprised. "So nothing he said was true?" When there was no response, she probed, "Rena…?"

"He doesn't know where Rider went. No one does. Maybe he went through different route."

"But there was a Green Rider that disappeared."

"Disappeared? No. Went home."

Karigan sighed. Too many biases.

"He want to make Fedir look evil," Rena whispered conspiratorially.

"Why?"

"Mickey was in love, but she didn't love him back. No, she loved Fedir. Even after he marry Marli, she kept loving him. Mickey was _very _jealous." She chuckled. "Sad, jealous love." She peered at Karigan out of the corner of her eye. "Your Zachy, he loves the children, no?"

Karigan smiled. "Yes, I think he does."

"Played like a boy." She kneaded in silence, then asked, "When you have his baby?"

Karigan's jaw dropped. "I'm – I'm not having anyone's baby."

Rena raised a telling eyebrow. "Mmm. Why you run away to island?"

"I – well, because – uh – well, because we were – I'm not – "

Rena tossed the bread into a bowl to rise. "People ask me last night why you here. Yes. They ask, Why they here? I say, They elope, running from families and king's service."

"_Elope_?"

Rena turned. "What do I say when you don't tell me why two Green Riders come without messages in middle of thunderstorm?" Her smile turned coy. "You have forbidden love, hide new baby from families."

"No! No, that's not even – that's so wrong, I can't even – Rena, how could you tell people that?"

"I see how you look at each other. Like you have a secret. You are obvious in your love." She saw Karigan's expression and threw her floury hands in the air. "Fine! You no tell me anything. You keep your secrets."

"Thank you. I will." As she made her way to the staircase, she heard Rena call, "You listen to me, Kari. He love you and he want family. Listen to me! He showed you that last night when he play with children for you!"

Covering her ears, Karigan thumped up the staircase. Not what she needed to hear. She turned into the hallway.

"You come back and make potato meal for dinner! Takes hours!" Rena's powerful voice still managed to be heard. Karigan dropped her hands.

"Fine!" she shouted back.

"Recruited for service?"

Karigan spun. Zachary smiled at her. His hair hung wetly around his face and his beard was neatly trimmed. His shirt hung untucked around his legs. The bruise on his cheek glared angrily, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore.

"Uh – yeah. Dinner." She smiled weakly.

"It should taste good, then."

"Yeah. Don't count too much on that."

There was a silence.

Karigan stuffed her hands into her pockets. "Well, Rena asked me to cook potatoes. I should go do that."

"Wait a moment, I wanted to ask about – my back – "

"Is it hurting? Did you pull the stitching out again?"

"I'm not sure. I can't tell."

"Can't tell?"

"I can't feel my injuries again and I can't quite see to check on them."

Karigan walked with him into his room. "Can't feel them, like yesterday?"

"Yes, but more so. It's as though the injuries are not there."

"Do you want me to check on them?"

"Yes, if you don't mind. Just to see." He seated himself on the edge of the bed and pulled up – no, _off_ his shirt. Karigan's insides tangled up as she perched behind him and peered at his bare back "Breyan's gold…" she whispered, forgetting her embarrassment.

"What? What is it?"

"The other one was around here, wasn't it?" She traced a circle near his spine, trying to ignore the feel of his skin – still hot from the bath water – and the shifting muscles beneath.

"Yes. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. And by nothing, I mean…there's nothing. They've completely healed. There's not even any scars."

"The thread?"

"Gone." She leaned away. "Magic." When he looked at her, she said, "It's the only explanation."

"I agree."

Karigan dropped her chin into her hand. "So Marli does know magic."

"And a Green Rider corpse appeared and disappeared in their stable."

They looked at each other.

"Karigan! Where are potatoes? Did Zachy drown?" Rena shouted from the bottom floor.

Karigan leapt to her feet. Zachary stood more slowly, facing her as slipped his arms into his shirt. "I have to go and help her," she said. She tore her eyes from him.

"Of course. I'm looking forward to dinner." He pulled the shirt over his head.

Karigan laughed nervously. "Eh – no. You shouldn't be."

"Karigan! You earn your keep!" Rena again.

"I have to go. You have a – your back is…" He was staring at her. Her face flamed. "It's healed. Your back is healed."

"Thank you. Yes, yes it is. Err – thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Yes."

"I come up and get you, yes, girl?"

"I'm coming!" To Zachary, Karigan said, "I'll see you in a little while?"

"All right."

She gave him a little half-wave, then hurried out of the room. _Moron_, she thought. As she turned into the stairwell, however, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder. He stood in the doorway of the bathing room, watching her with a fond smile. She returned it, then passed a hand over her face, wiping the grin away. _You need to focus, Kari. Remember who you are and remember who he is._

She thumped down the stairs. She did remember who he was. He was the man who loved her. And she? She was the woman who refused to admit that she loved him.


	15. Chapter 15

…

Mara threw herself against the wall and peered around the corner with wide eyes. Fastion, who had already dashed across the hallway, held a hand up. A patrol – regular guard – marched past. A moment, then Fastion gestured for Mara to come. She darted to his side. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind him.

"How much farther?" Mara whispered. He looked down at her.

"You're not completely recovered," he said, concerned. "You shouldn't have come."

"Am I slowing you down?" she snapped, trying to ignore the pressure mounting in her head. He furrowed his brow.

"Not at all," he replied. "We're close."

They turned and darted down another corridor, delving deeper into the bowels of the castle. Here, silence was heavy, tangible, stirred up like dust by the footsteps of the two runners. Their single lantern strove against the suffocating darkness, passing over stones that slumped beneath the weight of a thousand years of secrets and neglect. The shadows snatched at Fastion's uniform, dismembering his head and hands until the lamp light reclaimed him. Mara shivered at a drop in temperature. This was a place for mysteries and Black Shields. She suddenly longed for her horse and an open road.

Their pace slowed to a creep as they slipped across a hall, through a doorway, and into a familiar room. After a moment, Mara recognized it as the chamber preceding the collapsed anteroom.

"Where are the guards?" she dared to whisper. Fastion stole to the second doorway.

"There aren't any," he finally said, though he still kept his voice hushed.

"That doesn't make any sense." Mara stepped to his side. "Why would they leave?"

When no answer came, they proceeded to descend to the lower level. Mara knew she was capable of negotiating the rubble herself, but she couldn't complain when Fastion took her waist in his hands and lifted her down the steeper drops. At the bottom, they held themselves still, listening. Nothing.

The passage stretched as long as Mara remembered. Last time, however, there'd been that infernal buzzing. Now there was nothing. "It's not there," she murmured.

Fastion pressed onward, determination setting his jaw.

"Fastion, it's not there. They must have moved it."

"We're almost there," was his only response. Mara sighed and followed him in silence. The passageway finally opened into the room. Fastion stood utterly still, staring into the darkness beyond the lamp light. Mara placed a hand on his arm.

"They would take it somewhere closer to everyone," she said, pulling him back toward the hallway. "If it is indeed proximity that gives it its power over people, then they would bring it up to the populated areas of the castle."

Their pace quickened. "The throne room," he said. "It has to be there. It's the center of the castle."

"And fortunately for us, it has more than one entrance."

"Each of which will be guarded."

They began running.

"If I can gather the Riders and if you can find the Weapons that aren't affected, then we should be able to create a distraction big enough to allow someone to go in and destroy it."

They climbed up the rubble.

"Assuming it hasn't already affected the rest of us, of course," he said, a bitter undertone to his words. "It controlled us all the night the king disappeared." In a rare exhibition of emotion, he kicked out at a chunk of floor. It tore free from its niche and bounced down to the floor.

Their footing jerked, then the whole pile began shifting as its precarious balance was destroyed. Fastion swore fiercely and grabbed Mara, throwing her up to the ledge. He scrambled to reach the top, boots skidding over collapsing stones. As the rubble crumbled beneath him, he leaped and grabbed the ledge. Mara hauled herself up and turned to helped the Weapon, who hung by his fingers.

As if in response to the fallout below, the stone beneath Mara groaned. She grabbed Fastion's armor and heaved even as the floor fractured. He struggled and managed to throw one leg up, but the stone was disintegrating too quickly. His leg slid back off, but Mara clung to him.

"Let go!" he shouted, hands splayed and frantically searching for holds. "Get away!"

The floor groaned again, then finally splintered beneath Mara's knees. With a deafening crack, it gave out and they fell, swallowed up by the collapsing stone.

…

The blade flashed past Alton's eyes. He felt it smack against his shield and he flinched. The Weapon pulled back and resumed his walk, circling like a predator, twirling his sword easily in his hand. Alton took a deep breath. He was tired. He'd held his shield too long, against too many attacks.

He knelt in the center of the throne room, arms wrapped unceremoniously around Estora Coutre. The physical contact made it easier to shield her. And she was terrified. Understandably so.

Black Shields circled them, wicked blades gleaming, eyes flashing, teeth bared. He felt Estora shudder as swords spun in expert hands. Another Weapon stepped forward and slashed at the queen-to-be's neck. The sword bounced away harmlessly, but Estora still whimpered.

Why they didn't just pull her away from him, Alton didn't know. Perhaps they were enjoying it, tormenting them both in this way. Whatever the reason, it was all because of that machine. Alton peered through the circle of Weapons. It sat on the throne in sick mockery of the king, miniscule and beautiful, throwing colors that sparkled in the crimson blood pooling around it, drained from the throats of all who resisted its influence. Six Weapons stood around it. Weak-minded traitors. Alton closed his eyes and pushed Estora's face into his neck as blades lashed out at them.

Someone screamed. Alton took a deep shuddering breath and raised his head. Two Weapons dragged a third down the runner. She screamed and growled as they hauled her toward the throne. Her eyes flashed to Estora and Alton and he caught a glimpse of the full force of a Black Shield's rage.

They forced her to her knees and held her head at the machine, her nose almost touching it. "Vow your loyalty," a Weapon said. She struggled valiantly against them, eyes squeezed shut, hands like claws as she fought. But, just like all the others, her struggling calmed, her breathing quieted, her eyes opened, and she stood and joined the others.

"Aeryc help us," Estora whispered. Alton echoed the sentiments, barely pulling up his shield in time to deflect another sword swipe. "How much longer can you sustain this?"

"Don't worry about it," he answered, trying to sound unconcerned. But he was very concerned. He'd felt the razor tip of the sword on his arm. Looking down, he saw a tear in his sleeve. It wouldn't be long now until his shield gave out completely and the attacks became lethal.

Too much. This was all too much. The blood on the throne had dripped down, trickling over the dais steps and staining the runner. Long streaks indicated where bodies had been dragged across the floor and pools oozed beneath the growing pile of corpses. Nobles, soldiers, commoners – all lumped together in gruesome symbolism.

"The governors."

Alton raised his eyes and met Hendry Penburn's. He and Timas Mirwell sat beside a column, their wrists and ankles bound by skin-chafing ropes. Penburn's eyes reflected the same misery that masked Mirwell's face.

"I'm sorry," Alton mouthed. Hendry closed his eyes as he was lifted and dragged to the throne.

Timas Mirwell, on the other hand, threw himself face down on the floor, screaming obscenities and writhing as the Weapons struggled to grab him. Alton couldn't help but smile at his obstinacy. For the first time, he was glad of Mirwellian pride. Three Weapons carried him up the dais and slammed him into the floor. Timas thrashed in their grips. He even managed to knock the device a little to the right before hands wrapped around his throat and forced his head against the seat. Blood splashed onto his face. A knife was produced and dug into his cheek.

"Vow your loyalty," a Weapon said.

Timas glared at the device with the fury and pride of a thousand years of Mirwellian history, then spat on it. Estora buried her face in Alton's chest. The knife moved down to the lord-governor's throat.

"Mirdhwell," one of the Weapons spoke. "You resist."

_Mirdhwell?_

"You defy your own destiny," another said in the said monotone.

Timas rolled his eyes up to stare at them.

"You were once loyal and won the praise of all."

"Join us again, and you will be rewarded beyond what you can dream."

The Long War. Mirwell sided with Mornhavon then. "Gods," Alton whispered. "It's him."

"That wasn't long enough," Estora hissed. "Karigan took him to the future. It hasn't been long enough."

A shadow flitted across the floor. Alton blinked. The shadow passed again. Alton looked up. A figure dashed across the windows, outside. Someone had scaled the castle wall.

"If continue to resist, you will be of no use to us. We will kill you," a Weapon was saying.

Timas continued to stare. Alton could see the emotions flitting across his features, but it wasn't enough just to say it – the machine had to control him, like the Weapons. Even if he tried lying to save himself, he would still die. They would know, just like they knew when Lord-Governor Coutre had lied.

The silence dragged out.

"Vow."

A shudder rushed through Timas' body. The device had no power over Lord-Governor Mirwell. He would die.

Something squeaked. Alton looked up at the window again. A small square was missing and the figure was climbing, feet first, through the new hole. A rope had already been lowered.

At that moment, the castle seemed to shift. The floor rumbled and gave a sharp jerk. The Weapons, incredibly, lost their balances. Alton, knocked back on his elbows, watched as the figure, dressed in the fine clothing of a gentleman and with a half-mask covering his face and a sword at his hip, dropped to his feet, bounded across the room, sprinted up the dais, and leapt onto the throne. As one, the Weapons turned to him.

"Raven Mask," Estora breathed.

The man snatched the device from the reaching hands of Timas' captors, then jumped up to the top of the back of the throne as swords lashed out at him.

Behind him, the King's door opened. Black Shields and other soldiers spilled in: a siege to reclaim the castle. Chaos ensued and Alton lost sight of the Raven Mask and the device.

Alton hoisted Estora to her feet. The regular Sacoridian guard poured in from the main throne room doors. He pulled the lady out of the way and bustled her into an alcove.

"Alton!" someone shouted. Alton turned. A handful of Riders had joined the fray. "Come help!"

Help? What could he do? What could they do, for that matter? He looked down. His saber had been taken long ago by the Black Shields. He was of no use to anyone.

"There he is!"

Alton followed Estora's pointing finger. The Raven Mask had somehow broken free of the melee and he raced toward the window, the device clutched tightly against his chest. He jumped and caught his rope mid-leap, smacking his feet against the wall. He struggled to climb.

Black Shields were hot behind him. Some reached for him, others for the rope; some drew out knives…

Alton threw up his hands and hurled every ounce of power left in him. The thief and rope were suddenly out of reach; knives impaled empty air, rotating sluggishly until finally losing momentum and clattering to the floor. Black Shields threw themselves against the shield and Alton rocked on his feet. Estora steadied him. "A little longer," she whispered.

Sweat ran into Alton's eyes. The Raven Mask slipped once, dangled from the rope with one hand, then swung himself up again and continued to inch up to the window. Alton's body shook, his brooch heated up on his chest. The thief reached out and set the device in the hole in the window. He then climbed up beside it, met Alton's eyes across the room, gave him a nod, then slipped through the hole.

Alton vision flickered. He released the shield and dropped to his knees. Estora clung to him.

"Now what happens?" she whispered.

"We pray that he takes it far, far away."

…

Xandis Pierce Amberhill was trying to be better. Really, he was. Today, for example, he incapacitated two traitorous Black Shields, rescued a lord-governor from certain death, and used his wicked skills to steal a mind-controlling machine from beneath the fingers of its brainwashed minions. All in all, he flattered himself to think that today had been full of good deeds.

Standing on the narrow sill of the throne room window, he considered. Climbing back down the wall with the device in one hand was out of the question. He twisted his lips and held it out in front of him. It hummed softly, dripping blood, dazzling him with colors and tickling the edges of his mind. His ring, on the other hand (literally), was hot, flashing brilliantly in the sun, and pulsing crimson. Amberhill fancied it was protecting him.

_Destroy it, _something thought. He thought. That had been him, hadn't it?

Without hesitation, he opened his hands. The device plummeted, smacked against a stone wall, bounced off, plopped into the grass, rolled a little ways, then settled comfortably, by all appearances perfectly intact.

_Damn._

He proceeded to descend the wall. His muscles shook and protested, especially where that Weapon had taken a swipe at his leg, but he managed to make it far enough down so that when his body finally gave out, he didn't have far to fall. He rolled over in the grass and crawled to the device. The strange little machinations inside whirred and buzzed at him innocently. He picked it up and rotated it in his hands. Not even a scratch.

"Him!"

Amberhill looked up. Soldiers charged toward him. _Damn._ Gritting his teeth, he tossed the device behind him and drew his sword and knife. Three soldiers, probably some sort of patrol. He handled the first one easily, twisting his saber around the man's longsword and forcing it out of his grip. His knife hand, rolled into a fist, came around and cleanly knocked the man flat on his back.

The next two met him at the same time. He avoided their attacks and danced away, gauging them. One, with a big red nose, was slow and lumbering, but strong. The second, horrible scars ornamenting his face, was too enthusiastic and ran ahead of his partner. Amberhill smiled grimly. Scar-face first.

His saber rang against the soldier's blade. While Red Nose plodded after them, Amberhill lured his over-zealous companion farther and farther away. He gave the man a feral grin. Poor fool. A few flourishes with his saber, a spin, a parry, and a smart kick, and Amberhill knocked Scar-face to the ground.

He had misjudged Red Nose's progress however, and stood in shock as the powerful long sword shattered his saber. _Damn_. Amberhill raised his arm and lobbed his sword hilt, not caring whether the broken end impaled the man's head or not. It didn't, but it sent him crashing to the ground.

Amberhill collected the machine, frowning down at the glass windows. It was as though it watching him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his coat off and wrapped it up. Now, what to do with it? Dropping it onto stone from half a mile up hadn't done anything. He picked up his sword hilt and pulled his coat back just enough to stick the jagged sword edge between the glass and the metal. He pried, but the device remained intact.

He fumed for a few moments. If he couldn't destroy it, then he would just have to take it somewhere where it had no power. He looked up. The walls surrounding the castle were heavily patrolled and the portcullis appeared impenetrable. _Easy, _he told himself. _You've snuck past worst. _He just had to get to the wall by crossing open fields of grass, climb the wall, outwit the soldiers, climb down the other side, get through Sacor City, then do the same to the outermost wall. Easy.

The gardens were on the other side of the castle. At this moment, they offered the most cover for the longest distance. He set off at a run. He didn't like the way his ring was heating up, or the lights bleeding through the black velvet of his coat.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks, everyone, for reading. **

…

Karigan flung her arms out in exasperation. If she slept, she dreamt about him. If she awoke, she thought about him. With a groan of frustration, she flung the covers back, climbed out of bed, and padded to her open window. The ocean breeze cooled her hot skin and she closed her eyes against it. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? This was all very unfair. The whole Weapon-rebellion everything had probably just been a setup by him so he could get her alone. Except he had been impaled by knives. And he had thrown a rock at Fastion's head.

All right. So it hadn't been a setup.

A horse harness jingled. Karigan opened her eyes and peered down at the front yard. She gasped. A Rider! A Green Rider! In a flurry, she yanked on her boots and threw her coat on over her immodest nightgown. She rushed out of her room, through the dark house, and exploded out the front door.

"Hey!" she called. The Rider didn't seem to hear. Karigan slowed down as she approached. The Rider was female, with blonde hair pulled up messily on her head. Karigan squinted. The horse nibbled on the fence post. She was white. Who had a white mare? "Excuse me," Karigan said.

The Rider turned. Her face was lovely, but unfamiliar. "Who are you?" Karigan demanded. The woman walked past her wordlessly. Karigan spun around. "_Excuse _me – " She stopped. Rena's house had changed. A sign hung near the closed front door (hadn't she left it open?), boasting a carved animal and the words 'The Laughing Badger.' Warm firelight glowed in each of the windows and silhouettes moved within, accompanied by the muffled sounds of voices and dishes.

_Oh no._

The Rider knocked briskly on the door and was let in. Karigan clutched her coat tightly to her chest, eyes wide. Behind her, the mare whickered. Karigan looked over her shoulder and saw nothing. _Gods,_ she thought. _This can't be happening._

"Karigan?"

With a muffled shriek, Karigan spun around. The king stood in the doorway, peering at her curiously. "What are you doing out here?" Behind him, the house was silent and dark. No sign swung above the door, no one laughed inside. Karigan shuddered.

"I thought I heard something," she answered lamely.

He came down the steps toward her. Karigan noticed he was fully dressed and suddenly became very aware of her own appearance. She pulled her coat more tightly around herself and glanced down. The nightgown covered her knees and her boots hid most of her calves, thank goodness.

"What did you hear?" he asked, looking around.

"I – uh. It was nothing." She jerked a hand through her untidy hair. "I should get back to bed."

"Nothing?" he said doubtfully. "Was it some sort of animal?"

"I don't know," she snapped more forcefully than she intended. His eyebrows quirked. She then amended quietly, "I didn't see anything."

He frowned dubiously, but then held out an arm. "Come back inside."

She walked past him into the house, careful to avoid his touch. The moonlight filtered through the shuttered windows, casting itself eerily over the furniture. When she had first arrived, she had pictured this house to be an inn. She looked carefully at the room. There was no bar or stage, only one massive fireplace on the far side of the room, dominating the half that was used as a sitting area. The other half displayed three tables, surrounded by chairs, and the wide door that led into the kitchen.

Zachary was standing quietly beside her, looking around as if trying to see what she was seeing. Karigan walked toward the kitchen door, studying the floor. She crouched and ran her hand over the wood. "These planks are newer than those," she observed.

"Oh," he whispered. After a moment, he said, "Why is that significant?"

She stood. "Can you imagine this room as a tavern hall?" She pointed and his eyes followed her finger. "Tables all over. A stage for performers probably against that wall." She dropped her hand and looked at the floor. "The bar would be here. It would make sense that they would replace the floor."

She looked at him and saw that it clearly didn't make sense to him. Now that she thought about it, had he ever been in a tavern? "The planks would have been stained by the drinks. And when they pulled up the bar itself, it would have left marks."

"Yes, that does make sense. There are many unused rooms on the upper floor, as well. A former inn?"

"That's what I think."

He scratched his head. "We could just ask Rena and Ainsley in the morning. I can't imagine we would be infringing on a sensitive topic."

She stood in silence, considering her surroundings. "I lied."

"About what?"

"I did see something." She perched on the edge of a table. "I couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed. I heard and saw a horse and rider outside, so I ran downstairs to see."

"I heard you," he qualified.

"When I went outside, it was – a Green Rider."

He looked surprised, but waited for her to continue.

"I'd never seen her before, anywhere. I tried talking to her, but she walked past me without hearing. When I turned around, the house was all lit up and there were people inside. There was a sign hanging by the door: The Laughing Badger."

"And the Rider?"

"She knocked and went inside. Then her horse disappeared and everything went back to normal."

He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Like the corpse in the hayloft."

"Yes."

He whipped a chair around and straddled it, sitting directly across from her. Karigan self-consciously pulled down the nightgown that had hiked up when she sat on the table.

"Let's assume," he said, "that these things you are seeing are…"

"Ghosts?"

"The horse and Rider, maybe. But the corpse?"

Karigan slouched. "Right." She chewed on her lip as she thought. "In the castle, I've seen – things before. Not just people, but whole events."

"When the First Rider pulled you through time. After those events, you were always found semi-conscious in the back halls of the castle." He gave her a crooked smile. "You look tired, but not, I think, semi-conscious."

She stood and began pacing. "This feels different. And by that I mean that I don't feel anything at all. I'm not going anywhere, I'm just seeing them."

"And hearing and smelling them." He crossed his arms on the back of the chair and rested his chin on them. "I don't think we can solve _how _these visions are occurring. Perhaps we should worry about _why_?"

Karigan nodded. "They're obviously of the past," she said, sitting back down on the table. "How far back they are, I don't know."

"So a Green Rider once came here to Rena and Ainsley's home, which was once an inn."

"And a corpse was once up in the Spinters' hayloft, which was once a…hayloft?"

"And you're seeing them...because...?"

They peered at each other.

"This is too much to think about before dawn," Karigan yawned, stretching. Zachary stood and replaced the chair, reminding Karigan of his clothes. "You're dressed. Were you planning on going somewhere?"

He turned and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes. Err - just down to the beach."

"Is something wrong?" _Please say no._

"I can't sleep at all," he answered, then added slowly, "My dreams are keeping me awake." Some unidentifiable emotion made his eyes glow. Karigan shifted uneasily.

"I hope they're not nightmares."

"Not at all. They're...pleasant. In a tortuous sort of way." He gazed hard at her. Karigan gaped back at him and a familiar silence fell between them. Zachary finally spoke, "Kari – "

"I know where Rena keeps her cocoa. Maybe some hot chocolate will help you sleep." Karigan stood and hurried into the kitchen, clutching her coat with white fists. Once there, she pressed her hands into a counter and bowed her head, taking deep breaths. This couldn't keep happening.

He appeared in the doorway and she threw her head up before he could speak. "Please don't," she said, holding a hand up as if to ward him away. "Please don't."

He stepped into the suddenly too-small room. Karigan backed away, feeling panic rise up in her throat. She collided with another counter and shrunk against it.

"Don't do that," he said, his voice husky with suppressed emotion. "Please don't do that to me. It is not my intention to hurt you. Will you listen to me? Just this once?" He waited for a response. Receiving none, he hesitated a moment before launching, "You know my feelings for you. They haven't disappeared. They have only grown and – and deepened."

Karigan could only hold his fervent gaze for a few moments before she had to look away. "We have nothing to discuss," she whispered brokenly.

"Please," he entreated. He was closer. "You _must_ feel – you have to – " He broke off, looking away. When he raised his face again, a new light glinted in his eyes, one that both terrified and hypnotized her. "Karigan, I am not lying when I say that I love and - want you - " He paused and Karigan shivered. "You are my match in every way. Your passion, your intelligence - _you_ are all that I have ever - "

"Stop!" she cried, clutching her hair. "Just stop!" His jaw snapped shut with a click. "What are you trying to do?" she whispered. In the moonlight, she saw his brow furrow. "You are _king_," she continued, her voice hoarse and low. "You are king and I am far, far out of your reach. We are stuck where we are." He opened his mouth, but she plowed on, "We both have responsibilities to our country, to our - our families, to the world. _You_ are betrothed to Lady Estora. What you feel for me is – is meaningless." She spat the last word out, along with half of her soul.

"Earlier," he said softly, "you said that if there was just…one person with whom I could share…"

"You cannot marry me," she asserted. "And I will _never _lower myself to be your mistress."

"I didn't – "

"There is nothing for us, Za – Your – Excellency. There is _nothing_." She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.

"Do not run away," he commanded. "_Stop_ running away."

She looked everywhere but at him. "Let me go."

"I will not," he hissed. "I will not until you talk to me."

"About what?" She glared fiercely into his face. "What is there to talk about? What sort of sick hope do you cling to? How much longer will you torment both of us and – and keep on imagining this future that does not and will never exist? Release me!" She jerked her arms, but he maintained his grip.

"I hold on to the hope that two people who love each other can be _happy _and can _live_ – "

"That can never be!" Tears blazed in her eyes. "And I do _not _– I do not…" She trailed off, her face twisted with desperation.

"You do not…what?" he breathed. "You do not love me?"

She trembled. "Please let me go."

"Tell me. If you tell me you do not love me then I will leave you alone. Tell me and I will never mention my feelings to you ever again."

She stared at him, her heart cracking beneath the weight of his eyes boring down into her. "I…"

His fingers dug into her arms.

"I…"

His hands finally released her, moving instead to her face, which he cupped with both hands.

"I just…"

He tipped her head up and lowered his own.

"I don't…" Her breath mingled with his. "…Don't… I…"

His mouth claimed hers. A burst of rage drove her to fight him for three whole seconds, but it soon sizzled away. Heat rushed through her and she grasped his shirt as a thrilling tide swept her up. Spinning around in a golden glow, she was faintly aware of his hands slipping down her neck, searching, hunting.

_There is nothing for us…nothing… _The words echoed senselessly in her mind. His touch was an ecstasy and she curved herself against him, her senses distinguishing every contour of his body in stark prospect. _What you feel…is meaningless…_ He breathed raggedly against her lips, kissed them again briefly, hungrily, then slid his mouth along her jaw. _What sick hope…_ One hand splayed across his back, feeling the shifting of the corded muscles that were already so familiar. The other buried itself in his hair, gripping his head as he explored the swells and dips of her face, the curve of her throat, the arc of her collarbone, and the enticing sun-kissed skin that stretched across her chest.

He didn't resist when she brought his face back up to hers. _You are betrothed… _The coat was pulled away from her shoulders. …_And I will never lower myself… _His hands slid down her arms._ …Never lower… _She was pressed against the door and it shut with a thump.

Never.

The golden glow extinguished. Her eyes popped opened. One of his hands had reached the hem of her nightgown and his fingers teased her leg. With a snarl, Karigan gave him a mighty shove. He stumbled away, grabbing a counter to balance himself, blinking rapidly and staring at her in some confusion. She grabbed her coat off the floor, spat something incomprehensible and enraged, and bolted from the room, not caring if she awakened the family as she charged up the stairs and into her borrowed bedroom. She hurled herself onto the bed, furious at him, furious at herself. Sickened tears blazed down her cheeks. Burrowing into her pillows, she wept.

Sometime later, a lone figure dragged his feet up the staircase. She had left her door open. He peered in, heard her heavy breathing, and dared to enter the room. Moonlight glimmered on drying tears. He reshaped a throttled pillow and slipped it under her head. Next, he removed her boots and placed them side-by-side near the bed. He then pulled the sheets and blankets from beneath her, straightened them out, then stretched them over her curled body. With tender hands he tucked them around her.

Pushing strings of hair out of her face, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

All around Sacoridia, the waning moon painted buildings, forests, rivers, and fields. Slanting through an open window of a former inn on Black Island, it shone benevolently on the man who knelt against his bed, his amber head cradled in one arm, while the other hand, clenched into a fist, beat and beat at the inoffensive mattress.


	17. Chapter 17

…

They were soaring. Zachary's laugh sounded half-crazed as it was whipped away by the wind. Snorting and grunting, Night Hawk thundered over another rise, his hooves throwing up a rainstorm of dirt and grass in his wake. _Faster – faster, now._ Obediently, Night Hawk responded to each of the king's demands, his powerful legs stretching to their limit, his sleek muscles rolling with each hoof fall.

Everything around them was one long smudge. With the wind hammering his face, Zachary could barely breathe. His head was reeling. His hands were white as they clutched the reins. He was barely keeping his seat.

It was exhilarating.

Another laugh bubbled out of him. _Faster_, he thought. _Faster_. His heels dug in—again, faster.

They shot through a small grouping of trees and erupted onto sand. Night Hawk slipped on the new terrain and almost went down. Zachary knew a fleeting moment of astonishment as his feet lifted out of the stirrups. He was falling. His breath _whooshed_ out of his lungs –

"If there was one person with whom you could share…just one…who could understand…"

She had said that…. How strange it was of her to say something like that…. Potts's punch had left him lying in the dirt. She leaned over him, dabbing his throbbing cheekbone with water. The rag was soft and warm, but brushed over his skin brusquely. She could be gentler than that, surely? He reached up to take her hand, but his fingers closed over fur.

He opened one eye. A great pink tongue was descending on his face and he jerked his head to the side. "Terrier!" he groaned, pushing the big dog away. Terrier barked cheerfully and began digging, showering the king with sand and weeds.

Zachary groaned and rolled onto his side before trying to sit up. Thankfully, he didn't seem too seriously damaged. He had landed in a patch of wiry weeds and he picked them off his clothing as he stood. Terrier began digging frantically at his feet.

Night Hawk huffed and pranced some ways away, his coat matted and gleaming with sweat. His body heaved for breath and his legs quivered. Zachary, pricked by guilt, tried to approach, but the stallion danced out of his reach, tossing his head and flaring his nostrils, his ears pinned back.

"Calm down," Zachary said, "Let me cool you down." He reached for a rein, but Night Hawk snapped at his fingers. Zachary felt his own temper rise up in his throat. Forcing it down, he rounded the horse and tried to approach again. Night Hawk spun to face him, lowering his head menacingly. "Fine!" Zachary threw up his hands. "Have it your way." Night Hawk snorted and pawed at the sand, then loped toward the water. He shied at the waves, then bounded back to the king, veering away just as he came within reach.

Zachary passed his hands over his face with a groan. The adrenaline was fading and the past twenty-four hours dragged him down into the sand. Sleep had evaded him the last few hours of the night. Tormented by thoughts of what had almost been and what would always be, he'd walked the beach like some sort of phantom, back-and-forth along the same empty stretch, barefoot in the bracing water, willing the ocean wind to whip his plights away. When all it did was numb his face and whistle like a jeerer in his ears, he turned from the rising sun and resorted to Night Hawk.

Karigan. He ached for her, he needed her, and he feared he had lost her forever. He had seen glimpses of her most bitter fury in the past, always directed at others – Amilton, Mornhavon. Tyrants and villains and traitors. Last night, it had glimmered in her eyes as she pushed him away and edged the words she hurled at him. And it had made her run, as though she ran from an enemy.

An enemy. He drew his legs up and rested his forehead against his knees. What could he do? What was he trying to do? She had asked him that. How much longer would he torment both of them and keep on imagining a future that did not and would never exist? "Release me," she'd commanded. "Let me go."

He couldn't let her go. Wouldn't. Didn't. He held on, she pushed him away. It had been like glass shattering. At one point completely whole – she had fit against him seamlessly, just as he had always imagined she would, and for one blissful, brief moment, they were one. And then she ran, and they shattered.

Terrier forced a stick into Zachary's hand. He tossed it and the dog limped after it, barking gleefully.

What sort of sick hope did he cling to? After all, what he felt for her was meaningless. They both had responsibilities. He was betrothed to Lady Estora. He was _king_ and she was far, far out of his reach. They were stuck where they were.

Terrier was hobbling back to him, the white stick clamped in his mouth. Night Hawk grazed up near the trees, his breaths calming.

She hadn't said she did not love him. She didn't say it. Had he even given her a chance to say it? Maybe she didn't love him. Maybe he had convinced himself of a delusion. Maybe, for the first time, the blood he shared with his brother had finally reared its ugly head and he had tried to take what he wanted, without thought, without consideration, simply because he wanted it. How was he any different than Amilton?

She had retreated from an enemy. An enemy – no – that couldn't be. She loved him. He knew she did. It wasn't his delusion. She had to. If she didn't, she wouldn't have responded to him the way she did. She ran later, but first she surrendered.

He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. And how she had surrendered.

The stick was pressing against his fingers again. He took it and opened his eyes for a second throw. With a shocked cry, he hurled it from himself. Terrier chased it happily. Zachary clambered to his feet. Not a stick, but a bone. A long, white, rutted bone. He looked down. Bones littered the ground beside where he had been sitting, dug up by the silly dog. They poked from the sand, some stained, some splintered. And he had had the misfortune of landing right on top of them.

_Animal_, he thought. Something that was killed and left to rot there, buried by the shifting sands. He brushed off his clothing and considered. He could return to the house, beg exhaustion and try to sleep. Aeryc knew he needed it. Perhaps he could go with Ainsley and his sons, help them with their tasks. Work like a common laborer. He chuckled. He'd probably be more trouble than help. Then there were the Spinters – he could visit them. Or Mickey, the blacksmith. They could get drunk together again. That didn't sound too bad, actually.

This was all assuming, of course, that Night Hawk would allow him to ride. He moved and the horse sidestepped away.

Terrier dropped the bone at his feet and panted up at him. Zachary scratched his ears. "At least you're not angry at me." He was rewarded with a lick on his wrist, then Terrier continued to dig in the pile of bones. Where was Emmi? She didn't seem like the type to let her dog wander the island alone.

Something metallic jingled. Terrier was tugging on something buried deep in the sand. Zachary took it from the dog and dragged it up. Leather and Y-shaped, it looked somewhat like a horse's breast collar. He glanced at Night Hawk to confirm, then flipped the leather over. Splotches of color indicated it was once dyed a deep green, with tarnished gold disks as ornaments. He looked at Night Hawk again. He wore an identical collar. Heart sinking and unease rising, Zachary looked back down at the skeleton that Terrier steadily uncovered. A Rider horse?

He set the collar aside and knelt, joining the dog in the dig. More bones, some unidentifiable scraps, driftwood. His fingers closed around a leather strap and he hauled. After more digging and pulling, the strap finally gave and a satchel emerged, heavy with sand. He traced the Rider insignia stamped into the bulging leather, then dumped the contents out. Sand, rocks, shells. Nothing of interest. He held the satchel against his legs, running his thumbs over the water-warped leather. Terrier was still digging, but uncovering nothing more. No skull, no saddle, no bridle. Probably washed away by the ocean.

He racked his brain. He rarely had reason to send Riders to Black Island, and as far as he could remember, the few that had gone had returned safely. Would Captain Mapstone have told him if one of them had lost their horse?

He looked back down at the satchel. This would not please Karigan. Not at all.

"Terrier! There you are!"

Zachary looked up. Emmi stood with her hands on her hips, frowning at the dog that limped toward her. "How many times do I tell you not to run off?" He sat before her, panting, tongue lolling, adoring her with his big brown eyes. She eventually smiled and threw her small arms around him, apparently incapable of resisting the mutt's charm. "You scared me. I thought you were gone forever."

Zachary stood and kicked the bones back into the pit, holding the collar and satchel behind his back. After whispering other sweet nothings to her pet, Emmi finally took notice of the king. She squealed with delight and charged him, leaping into his unready arms.

"Terry was protecting you, wasn't he?" she cried, hugging his neck. "I should have known he would be doing something good."

Zachary patted her back awkwardly, trying not to smack her with the satchel. "Yes, he was. He has been very helpful today." He removed his arms, but she clung to his neck nonetheless. With a sigh, Zachary dropped his burdens and moved the little girl onto his back. "Is your home nearby?"

"Oh yes. Just on the other side of the trees."

On the other side? He hadn't noticed it when he was riding. He hadn't noticed much of anything while he was riding, and now that he considered it…where was he?

Carefully picking up the satchel and collar, he approached Night Hawk slowly. The horse watched him, but didn't balk and Zachary attached his findings to the saddle. Taking up the reins, he led the little band through the trees.

"There's my house." Emmi pointed past Zachary's head. "Isn't it lovely? Mama takes good care of it."

A little cottage huddled against the trees, a thriving garden blanketing the front lawn, locked in by a wooden fence. Zachary tied Night Hawk to a post, then opened the gate. Emmi slipped down Zachary's back and he barely caught her in time to place her on her feet. She ran to her house, threw open the door and shouted, "Mama, he's here! You have to come meet him!"

Zachary stood awkwardly on the stone path until a woman appeared in the doorway. A smile erupted on her comely face and she moved toward him, hands outstretched. "It's you!" she cried. He reached out a hand to take one of hers, but she politely ignored the gesture and instead enveloped him in a tight embrace. He returned the hug hesitantly, unsure of how this woman recognized him, and why she viewed him in such an intimate light. She finally released him, holding him out at arm's length. "You're up and about! I was going to visit you later today once my cooking was done, but you came to me instead!"

"I am afraid I don 't recall being introduced…?"

"Of course not. You were barely breathing at the time." She led him into the house. "I'm AnnElyse, the midwife in this little town. I'm the one that stitched up your back." She gave him a smile and ushered him into a quaint sitting room. The furniture pieces were old, but neatly patched and cleaned. Despite their wear, however, they were obviously of expensive design. Paintings hung on paneled walls and the worn carpet showed patches of vibrant color.

"You have a beautiful home," Zachary said, looking around curiously.

"Thank you. Please, sit down. Your back must be hurting terribly for you to have come here. I'll fetch some tea." She disappeared through a door. While he waited, Zachary wandered about the room, peering at the silver and glass decorations.

"Doesn't she keep it beautiful?" Emmi said, following him.

"Yes. Very." He paused at a long desk. Beneath the glass surface, three maps were carefully preserved. Two were of Sacoridia and Rhovanny. The third, however, was nothing but torn paper and smudged ink stains. Leaning down close and squinting, he could barely discern an outline and some writing, but nothing else.

"You're not allowed to touch the glass," Emmi warned. "Mama doesn't let us touch anything in here. She used to be very rich, but not anymore. Sometimes she worries about money. Mat tells her to sell her things, but she won't do it."

Zachary rubbed away the smudge his nose had left. "What does your father do?"

"I don't know. I never see him. All Mama says about _him_ is I need to find a man that will treat me better than he treated her." She took his hand and turned him to face her. "I'd like to know, please, what your lady likes are."

Zachary furrowed his brow. "My lady likes?"

She gave a brisk nod. "Yes. I mean – do you like fair ladies or dark ladies? And must they be big or thin? And are you in a great big hurry to get yourself marriaged, or do you think you could wait a little bit? Like ten years, or about. And – besides all that," she added with sudden anxiety, "if it would be too much to take care of a wife _and _a dog."

Touched, Zachary crouched and kissed her hand gently. "Do you say you want to marry me, Lady Emmi?"

She sighed and crushed his happiness. "Not really. To marriage is silly and only for old people. I'd rather be a Black Weapon. But I'll sacrifice myself for Mama, if only to make her stop worrying about money. But I _do _like you, Zachary, and I think you would treat me better than my papa treated Mama. I especially like your big brown eyes. They're like Terrier's. And the way your mouth sort of nearly but not quite smiles sometimes. Have you got lots of money with you?"

He chuckled. "I'm afraid not."

She frowned at him. "I never would have thought you'd be a big disappointment, Zachary, but you are. A hugeous one."

"I'm very sorry, my dear. But – perhaps by the time you're old enough to get married I might be able to find enough. Would that serve?"

The small shoulders shrugged. "No, I'm afraid. I need it now. People make promises about marriaging sometimes, years before they really do, and I was hoping you and me could make that kind of thing, and then I could have the money. But – I suppose I'll have to find somebody else."

He gave one small earlobe a tug. "I wish you wouldn't, Lady Emmi. Can't you possibly wait for me?"

She looked glum. "I'll try, Zachary. But Mama said only yesterday that things are getting desperate, and if it keeps on like that, I'll just _have _to sacrifice myself to somebody else!"

"Ah, I see you've found my maps."

Zachary straightened, a smile still tugging at his mouth. "Yes. They're beautiful." He pointed, careful not to touch the glass. "I see Sacoridia and Rhovanny, but what is this third one?" AnnElyse set the tea on a table and joined him.

"That one was given to me by my grandfather. I'm sure he told me once where it is, but I'm afraid I don't remember." She smiled apologetically. "Somewhere far away."

Zachary gazed down at it, intrigued and certainly mystified.

"Now, Emmi, if you could go finish your lessons."

"But Mama – "

"No. When you're done maybe we'll finish off those tarts from last night." She gave her daughter a wink and Emmi gave a little squeal of excitement as she hurried out of the room.

"Lessons?" Zachary inquired politely, following AnnElyse's guiding hand to a chair.

"Yes. I tutor both of my children." She handed him a delicate cup of tea. "I will never be able to afford sending either to Selium, but I will give them the best education I can." She smiled. "Now, your injuries. Has Rena been applying the ointment?"

"Oh, right. Yes, they've gotten much better." His face reddened. How was he going to explain that?

"Apparently, for you to be riding already." She peered at him curiously. "They were very deep."

He offered a closed-mouth smile. "Yes, they were."

She waited for more, but he sipped his tea and found something else in the room to look at. She placed her cup on the table. "Well, I suppose I'll check on them now. Please turn."

He hesitated, holding his cup to his lips. Then he reluctantly set it down and twisted in his seat.

"I'm supposing that you're glad they're healing quickly," she said as she rolled up his shirt. "You'll be wanting to return to – " Her voice cut off. Zachary bit his lip. A silence passed, then he felt her fingertips on his shoulder blade, then down at the base of his spine. Another silence, then she said flatly, "They've healed very quickly."

"Yes," he replied lamely. "They have."

She lowered his shirt and returned to her seat, taking up her tea. As she drank, she watched him over her cup, very suspicious. He shifted uneasily, then spoke. "I came to make sure that Terrier returned home safely. I didn't want Emmi to be worried. I didn't realize you were her mother."

"You went to Marli Spinter, didn't you?"

His eyes roved away from AnnElyse's face and he took another drink. "Yes, I met Marli. She's very charming."

"She's a witch."

His eyes snapped back to hers. "That is a hefty accusation," he said evenly. AnnElyse's chin lifted.

"It is true. She is the only one who could have healed your injuries so quickly. She uses _magic_. You shouldn't have gone."

Zachary's jaw flexed. "My business is my own," he said.

A slight pucker appeared between AnnElyse's brows. "If she used her magic, then you can be certain that there will be a price to pay. A woman like her – from such a family…you should not have gone to her."

Zachary stood suddenly, fighting to keep his temper down. No one could tell him what he could and could not do. He was master of himself. No one else. After a moment, very aware of the midwife's curious gaze, he settled back into the chair. "What do you know of Marli Spinter?" he said, hearing his aggravation still quivering in his voice.

AnnElyse leaned back in her chair. "She cast a spell on Fedir."

At this pronouncement, the king's harried emotions erupted into laughter. "A love spell?" he said, far more harshly than he imagined it would sound.

She frowned at him. "Before they married," she said as Zachary downed a gulp of tea, "Fedir was an apprentice blacksmith. He had high hopes of going to Sacor City to live and work. It was his – he wanted to craft blades for masters, for Black Shields. He had a talent with metal. He made this." She rose and lifted a statue off a shelf, passing it to Zachary. It was a deer, one cloven hoof lifted, tail upright, intricate antlers intertwined high above his graceful head.

"This is exquisite," the king murmured, turning it over in his hands.

AnnElyse smiled fondly. "Isn't it?"

"I've never seen metalwork like this before." He held it up to his eyes, marveling at the details. "He has an incredible talent." Perhaps he should come to Sacor City.

"Yes, he does. He was well on his way to leaving, when _she _came."

Zachary reluctantly returned the statue to her. "You mean Marli."

"Yes. The girl comes stumbling into the village, all rags and dirt, half-starved. Fedir's family took her in, nursed her back to health. Apparently he fell in love with her." AnnElyse set the statue on the shelf, her fingers lingering on the deer's back. "He used all of his money to pay for a wedding and to build a house."

Zachary watched her closely. "He married her, despite what everyone believes about her?"

"Oh we didn't know." AnnElyse moved across the room in irritation. "We all just thought she was just some orphan. Then things began happening." She peered at him out of the corner of her eye ominously. Zachary quirked an eyebrow. "Rains came one year and everyone's gardens washed away, except for hers. Those trees around their house sprung to adulthood in a matter of months. Her little boy shattered his leg and not two days later he was running around, just like you."

Zachary stroked his beard. "I'll not say I have an explanation for you, but…are those events truly evil?"

"It's _magic_," she snapped. "And that tattoo on her hand – the dead, black tree? Who has a tattoo like that? Dagon has the same thing." AnnElyse shook her head. "I've told Mat and Emmi to stay away from him. I will not have him influencing my children."

Zachary considered her. Her speech and mannerisms betrayed her as well-educated and her belongings could sell for a very good price. Who was she, really? "I understand," he said. "You have seen this tattoo on Dagon?"

She flushed. "Not myself, no. But Mat has told me about it."

"Mmmm. It - err - sounds as though you know Fedir well."

She tipped her chin up. "I loved him," she said boldly. "I would have done anything for him. And he married her."

"Would you kill for him?" Zachary said just as boldly, holding her eyes in a steady gaze. She stared back, mouth gaping.

Emmi chose that moment to come careening into the room. "Mama! I'm all done with my lessons!"

AnnElyse shook her head and forced a smile on her face. "So fast! That is excellent, my darling."

"Can I have a tart now, please? Can Zachary have one too?"

Zachary stood. "I actually should leave. I need to be returning to – " _Karigan. _" – Rena and Ainsley."

Emmi pouted. "Not even one tart?"

"Not even one. Goodbye, Lady Emmi." He patted her tousled curls. The two females followed him out of the house.

"Goodbye, Zachary!" Emmi cried, waving energetically. "Come see me again soon! And find some money so we can get marriaged!"

AnnElyse didn't seem at all surprised by this farewell. She allowed the king to kiss her hand and she smiled sweetly upon him. "Zachary."

He returned the smile. "AnnElyse."

Night Hawk watched his approach warily, then stepped away when Zachary tried mounting. The king returned the horse's stare, then shook his head and took up the reins. "I'll walk," he murmured, rubbing the stallion's nose. He could see the roofs of the main village in the distance, but he detoured to the beach. Crouching beside the pit of bones, he brushed a bit more sand around. A Rider horse, apparently killed and buried fully tacked. Visions of a Green Rider at the inn. A corpse in a hayloft. A lover, replaced by a 'witch.' He stood, then crouched once more when something glimmered in the weeds. It was a chain, too small to fit anywhere on a saddle or bridle.

He lifted it up and an amulet of sorts popped out of the sand. He caught it with one hand, rubbing the grime away. A square piece of black metal shone dully at him. In its center was smaller square of stained glass, the loveliest blue he'd ever seen. Well, no…Karigan's eyes were the loveliest blue he had ever seen. He rubbed the necklace against his trousers as he stood. It matched her eyes perfectly.

It must have belonged to the Rider who owned the horse. He absently stroked his beard as he thought. Would it be an insult to her memory if he took it? Wherever her body was, he had no way of resting it with her. He began walking back to the village. No, it wouldn't be disgraceful. He would give it to Karigan. Truly, the blues were the same. He stared at the necklace as he walked. He would give it to her and apologize. She wouldn't accept it, of course, but he would try.

That wasn't like Amilton, was it? His steps quickened. His brother would have never apologized. His brother would never have stopped. He would have taken what he wanted.

"I stopped," Zachary said out loud. He smiled at the words. Yes, he would give her the necklace and ask her forgiveness. With a grin at Night Hawk, who seemed to be politely ignoring him, he jogged all the way back to Ainsley's house.


	18. Chapter 18

…

Something was digging into her spine. Mara groaned and tried to move, but found herself restrained. Both of her hands were crushed against her stomach and she struggled to pull them out. Stone crunched and groaned as she moved. Her legs were entangled in something; a deep pain throbbed in her hip and sharp stone edges jabbed into her from every angle. She opened her eyes. Blackness. Blackness and empty, cold air.

Finally her right hand popped out and she dropped it onto whatever weight was pinning her. Cloth…cloth? She felt around. Cloth and leather and metal and rocks. Her hand searched higher. Skin, hair, rocks…blood.

_Fastion!_

She was barely able to get a breath past his dead weight. _Not dead_, Mara thought. _Not dead_. Panic lending her strength, she pushed and squirmed her way out from beneath him. Blood slushed painfully through her veins, but she disregarded it as she struggled to her hands and knees. Sharp stones moved as she tried to balance herself on them and she collapsed a number of times before finally stabilizing herself enough to roll Fastion onto his back. Like a rag doll, he tipped over the broken rock, limbs splaying, head lolling.

"Fastion?" she whispered, groping for his face, then his mouth. _Breathe_, she thought. _Please breathe. _She waited for what seemed an eternity, then…had that been one? Just a faint warming of her fingertips? Her other hand traveled to his neck. There – his heartbeat, quivering feebly beneath his skin. She took up his hand. Ice cold. She folded his arms over his chest and coaxed a flame over her palms. It flickered and wavered, then extinguished. Her forehead drooped against his stomach. Just a short rest, she thought. Then she could make a bigger fire.

She was deathly cold. Moaning, she pulled up her heavy head, grimacing at the pain in her neck. Everything around her was still black as night, but her mind was clearer. How much time had passed? An hour? A day? Her new flame burned with fervor and she held it close to Fastion's heart.

As she watched, a faint glimmer appeared beneath his shroud of black lashes. She held her breath. The glimmer disappeared, then reappeared a few moments later when his eyes opened wider. The flames danced in his dilated pupils.

"Fastion?" she whispered.

His lips moved, but no sound came out. Mara released the fire in one hand and reached up to his face. He looked much as he did when the Weapons first brought him to the Mending Wing: blood matted his hair and trickled over his eyelids and down his cheeks, the flesh beneath it ashen. But he was alive. "Hello," she murmured, touching his cheek. Was that her smile shadowing the corner of his mouth? She liked to think so.

His eyes glinted. "Fire…" he croaked. She laughed.

"Yup, it's me." Lifting her hand, she coaxed the flame bigger. High above them, a jagged hole indicated where the floor had caved in. Fallen rock formed strange hills around them, but none reached the opening above. "Why couldn't this have happened when the Weapons were here?" she mused aloud.

Fastion whispered something. Mara leaned in closer.

"Hurt…?"

"You are very hurt," she replied, gingerly touching his forehead. "It's your head again, and this time we don't have Ben."

"No," he murmured, his eyelids flickering. "You."

"Me? I'll have some interesting bruises, but I'm fully functional." She smiled.

His breath rattled out of his lungs and his eyes drifted shut. "Good."

She gazed down at him, brushing away a rivulet of blood. When they'd fallen, somehow he had held onto her, seizing her with arms and legs, forcing her head safely against his chest. She distantly remembered landing on top of him, and then rolling as stone chunks fell and shifted around them, but then the lantern shattered and everything had gone dark.

Coaxing her flame larger, she held it out toward the surrounding walls. From what she could see, there was no way back up. She sighed and looked back down at Fastion. His eyes had opened once more into slits. Fresh blood trickled down into them. Stupid – she should have tended his injuries first. With hands and teeth, Mara fought to tear her coat into strips. The blood on his head seemed to come from his earlier injury, reopened in the fall. She wadded up a strip and pressed it against the wound, wrapping it in place with another. "Does anything else hurt?" she asked, pointedly ignoring her own pains.

There was no response. When she had assured herself he hadn't died, she sat back on her heels with another sigh. This was not good. If his head injury didn't kill him, trying to climb out of here would, and if no escape presented itself, they would be stuck here forever. She sighed again, fingering her brooch. She should try looking around, but exhaustion was creeping into her limbs. Tossing decorum aside, she curled up around the Weapon, tucking his icy hands between their bodies and holding a flame at his chest.

She drifted in and out of sleep. She recalled her fire puttering out at some point, and Fastion talking – whether he had been awake or asleep, she didn't know. There also seemed to be a distinct drop in temperature and she snuggled up against him, trying to ignore the stones and what must have been his sword hilt digging into her flesh. Strange images passed across her vision – bright colors, swirling like water and dripping into pools of blood. The device sat on its pedestal, dazzling her. Black-clad bodies were piled at its base, Fastion crowning the heap, his head cracked and seeping blood. His eyes – such beautiful gray eyes – watched her unseeingly.

She jerked with a cry, panicking in the darkness until she remembered where she was. Fastion was silent beside her, though she could feel him shivering. Had it become winter in here? She pried her arm out and tested the air. Definitely winter. She pulled it back in. Why had she used her coat to bind his head?

"Mara…"

She forced herself out of the nest of stone she had created, holding a flame to his face. "How do you feel?" she asked, touching his cheek.

"We need to…find – " he winced, " – a way out."

If there was a way out. "No, not while you're like this. We'll stay here until you're stronger."

"I'm…strong enough." To her dismay, he tried sitting up.

"Stop!" She clutched his arms, trying to restrain his movements. "Please, lay back down. You'll hurt yourself more!"

Grimacing, he finally acquiesced, grunting as he settled back on the stones. "Shouldn't…be this weak," he muttered.

"You're not weak. You're injured. Did you hurt yourself more?"

"No…" The word was barely audible. "It's cold…"

"I know."

He took a handful of her shirt and tugged. "Lay back down."

It could have been romantic, Mara thought as she nestled beside him, were they in a bed rather than on a pile of broken rock and not teetering on the brink of death. His grip slackened and his head drooped. Mara, on the other hand, hovered just beyond sleep, too agitated to relax. She tried listening to Fastion's sluggish heartbeat, but that just aggravated her more. How long had they been down here? What was happening up above? Where were the other Riders, the Weapons, the servants, the nobles? Where were Karigan and the king? She heaved a sigh. Was there any way out of this pit?

After what seemed like hours, Fastion finally stirred. Mara knelt and leaned over him. Her makeshift bandage was still intact and no fresh blood was visible on his face. Licking her fingers, she tried to clean off the old blood. His face scrunched like a child's under her ministrations and she smothered a giggle.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better." One eye cracked open. "How are you?"

She offered a weak smile. "Alive."

He exhaled deeply, shifting his weight on the rocks. After a moment, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. Mara grabbed him with one hand as he wavered, eyes unfocusing, then he gave himself a brisk shake and sat up completely.

"Are you all right?" she asked, peering into his strained features.

"Yes." He squinted into the darkness. "Have you searched for a way out?"

Mara stood carefully. "Not really. I looked around from where I sat." She turned at the sound of rocks moving. Fastion was valiantly trying to stand. "You really shouldn't be doing that," Mara tried. She failed. Between the loose stones and his reeling head, his footing was shaky and he grasped Mara's proffered hand, leaning heavily on its inadequate strength.

Mara's flame expanded as they approached one of the walls. They made their way around the entire perimeter of the room, searching for anything that looked like an escape. They considered the distance to the upper level, but decided it was too high, even with their combined heights. The hallway leading to the device room remained available, but it was a dead end.

Fastion inspected the wall carvings, as if to divine some sort of escape from them. "It appears as though this was some sort of religious ceremonial room," he mused. "These figures here – " he pointed, " – look to be priests." He continued on at length, his voice blurring beneath the angry pounding of Mara's head. She leaned against the wall, breathing steadily, wishing her brain was somewhere far away.

"Mara?" Fastion said at her ear. "Not giving up, are you?"

Mara blinked rapidly. Her fire had extinguished and they stood in complete darkness.

"I'm sorry." The flame flickered back into life. Despite its heat, she shivered. It really was freezing down here.

Fastion watched her closely. "Are you feeling well?"

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Yes, I'm fine."

His lips tightened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he turned back to the wall. "These are very old," he said. Mara sighed. More history. "_Very_ old. They remind me of images depicted on the tombs in the Heroes Portal. This here, see?" He splayed his hand across the stone. "This must be from the Long War. I recognize that figure – he shows up many times in the carved allegories in the tombs. He is an Arcosian artisan."

Mara stepped closer, following Fastion's hand as he drew invisible lines across the wall. "That looks like the pedestal the device was on," Mara noted.

"Yes…the artisan is standing beside it."

Mara moved his hand aside. "Isn't that your crest? The shield?"

Fastion squinted. "Yes. I believe you are right." His brow knuckled. "I thought these figures were priests, but now I see…they must be Black Shields."

"What are they doing…?" Mara wondered. She continued along the wall. "Is that the device?" A large blocky object had been depicted in the center of some sort of room, surrounded by the Weapons.

Fastion joined her. "It's been depicted far too large. The thing was only the size of my fist." He leaned away, his face suddenly troubled. "Mara, this image reminds me of the way they were guarding the device."

She nodded absently. "This must have happened before," she said. "Don't you think? These walls are telling the story of what happened. Here, the Black Shields are guarding it – or, guarding that man, the Arcosian." They reached a corner and moved on to the next wall.

"Perhaps it will tell us how to stop it…" Fastion absently took her wrist and raised it, as though it were a lantern. "These have all been worn off." He hurried on, pulling Mara behind him. They reached a scattering of clearer carvings.

"These are different," Mara mused. "Look, this is the little device, and there aren't any Black Shields." Her lips twisted as she considered the image. She took a few steps away, then rolled her eyes. "Of course! This is the room we found it in. See where it is? And here's that long hallway."

"And this is the room we're in now. There are the two doorways we saw earlier."

"The doorways…?"

"They were walled-in."

Mara remembered. She said, "They looked sealed in this image, as well."

Fastion was nodding slowly. "Yes. They must have subdued its power somehow, put it in that room, then blocked all entrances."

Mara walked back along the wall. "And of course, the part where they subdue its power is all worn off." She shook her head. "This is so incredibly not useful."

"Not necessarily. We know it happened once, during the Arcosian occupation, and that the device can be stopped. We also know that those doorways lead out of this room." He surprised her with a sideways grin. "It's worth a try."

Mara offered a tight-lipped smile and followed him back the way they had came. Fastion stopped and pressed his hands against the wall. It looked like he was staring at the granite, but when he pulled away, she saw dark openings and cracks. "Here's one of the doorways. The stones must have come loose in the collapse." He drew his sword and smacked the hilt against the stones. Mara sat down, more than willing to let him have at it. He managed a few more hits until the sword slipped from his grip and he dropped to his knees, clutching his head. Mara crawled to him.

"Aren't we a pair?" she whispered, holding his broad shoulders. "Maybe we should just go back to sleep."

"That would be unacceptable." He forced himself up and began pulling rock bits out with his hands.

_It was a joke_, Mara thought irritably. Nevertheless, she held a flame with one hand and tugged at stone with the other. The bottom half of the doorway had been unaffected by the collapse and therefore proved impossible to take apart. The top, however, eventually became an opening.

"Let me lift you through." Fastion sheathed his blade, then crouched. Mara placed her foot in his cradled hands and was raised up. She stuck her hand through the opening. "What do you see?"

"Nothing. Just a hallway of some sort." She grabbed the barrier and hoisted herself through. Shimmying across the thick wall, she had a moment of distress when she realized she'd fall head-first onto the floor. "Lower me slowly, please," she requested. She felt his fingers curl securely around her ankles and he pushed her through. When her fingers brushed the floor, she said, "You can let me go now!" He did so at once and she dropped onto her outstretched hands. She leaned her legs against the wall and was very grateful Fastion was on the other side and couldn't see the extremely embarrassing process of getting her feet on the floor without face planting.

"Mara?" Fastion called. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Mara finally stood and dusted herself off, trying to ignore her angry body. When this was all over, she was going to sleep for a week. She ignited a flame, then let out a muffled shriek.

"What? What is it?"

Mara swallowed. "We're not the only ones to get stuck down here." From heaps on the floor, two skulls grinned ghoulishly up at her.

She heard stones crunching and backed away as Fastion came through the hole – somehow feet-first, she noted. He slipped through and landed lightly. He hesitated before standing, however, one hand reaching to touch his head and his lips tightening into a grim line. Mara watched in concern.

Fastion finally straightened and turned. He stared down at the two piles of bones and litter, eyebrows slowly furrowing. A frown tugged his mouth. "Strange…" he murmured, crouching. Mara shrunk away as he sifted through the bones. "There are chains here." He picked up a piece of metal and scrutinized it. After a moment, he put it back, staying in a crouch until he apparently came to some sort of decision and stood.

"What is it?" Mara asked, trying to read his impassive features.

"I don't know. It appears as though they were chained."

Mara stared. "Chained? Like prisoners? Did they starve to death here?"

"Most likely." He frowned thoughtfully. "This must have happened before Saverill, yet I do not recall ever hearing about it."

Mara continued to gape. "Happened before Saverill? You mean…these were Black Shields?"

"Yes. They were in full regalia when they were placed here. How strange…I've never seen this form of punishment before."

"How _strange_? Is that all you have to say?"

He looked at her. "What else is there to say?"

She stammered. "I-I don't know." She huffed. "Something." She gestured to the bones. "They were alive once."

"Clearly they lived badly." Before Mara could respond, he turned from the skeletons and said, "Torches." He pulled one from its dusty sconce on the wall. "Excellent." He held it out to Mara, who glared before lighting it.

They proceeded to walk, completely in silence. The hallway turned occasionally, steepened occasionally, dipped occasionally, and split occasionally. They passed rotting doors dangling from rusty hinges, disintegrating tapestries, and sagging furniture. They found windows, but only the darkness of another wall waited beyond.

Mara stole glances at the Weapon as they walked. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his lips turned in frown, his overall mystery broken only occasionally when he reached up to readjust the wrappings around his head. How cold he was, she thought. How distant. Yet she knew that beneath his impassive exterior, an inconceivable passion burned. He would give his life without a second thought, was it necessary. And he would kill just the same.

Who was he? What was his last name? Which province claimed his birth? Did he have parents? Brothers? Sisters? She opened her mouth to ask the questions brimming in her mind, then clamped her teeth down and stared at her feet.

"Are you hungry?" he suddenly asked.

"I've gone longer than this without food," she assured him truthfully. Had he?

He fell silent, then asked, "Are you cold?"

"A bit." She rubbed her hands together and she saw him watching the orange glow that appeared between them.

"Are you tired?"

She looked at him, keeping a smile away from her mouth. "A little bit."

He immediately stopped walking. "We should rest."

Mara's smile made a brief appearance. "Good idea."

They settled on the floor beside each other, an appropriate space between them. Mara leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. The stone served as a poor pillow, but she had slept in worse conditions before.

"Tell me," Fastion murmured, "of the life of a Rider."

Mara opened her eyes, surprised. "What do you want to know?"

"Is it difficult?"

She exhaled deeply. "Sometimes."

He raised his eyes to hers. They looked translucent in the dim light. "When?"

"When it's hailing and the only shelter you can find is a dead tree." She chuckled. "When all you have to eat is berries. When you get pelted by rotten fruit." He looked surprised and she explained, "Not everyone is as dedicated to the king as you are." A smile flickered across his lips and he looked at his hands. "When you're beaten and mugged by thieves." Her smile faded. "When your horse is lamed and you have to kill him. When you're killed because someone doesn't like the message you deliver." She frowned into the darkness.

Fastion watched her. "And yet you still go."

Mara laughed. "And yet we do." She turned her head toward him. Their gazes met and lingered, and Mara felt her heart begin to thump. She then saw his eyes drift down to the right side of her face and she jerked her head around, fighting the urge to cover her face with her hair. "And what of you? What of the life of a Black Shield?"

He didn't respond. She peered at him from the corner of her eye. He was staring into the torchlight. With a sigh, Mara leaned her head against the wall again. So many secrets. Her eyes shut. Too many secrets.

"…training…."

She was warmer than she'd been in a long time. She snuggled closer to the source.

"And King Zachary can be…there is so much more…"

A hand was in her hair, coiling and caressing. Another held her waist, unhurried fingers tracing circles up and down her side. She sighed with satisfaction.

"…always watching the…they can't see what they have…"

Her face rested against padded cloth, but she could feel the bristles of an unshaven jaw on her forehead and the breath that warmed the murmured words.

"There are differences…those that are stricter…some would never consider…"

She pulled closer and he shifted to accommodate her, his low chuckle rumbling through his armor.

"You make this dangerous…"

The hand in her hair moved to touch her face. Fingers parted her lips.

"But only once…just now…"

Mara opened her eyes. The torch burned cheerfully at her, welcoming her back to consciousness. She lifted her head from the wall. Her legs were stretched out before her, not at all wrapped up around Fastion's like she thought they were. That space between them still gaped at her and she looked at him, bewildered. He was still staring into the torchlight, but glanced up when she moved.

"I was beginning to wonder when you would awaken."

Her brow knuckled. "I thought – " She stopped. He watched her, his face devoid of any expression.

"You thought what?"

She looked away. "Nothing. Never mind." A dream, then. Quite a vivid dream.

He stood and held out a hand to assist her to her feet. "Shall we continue?"

"I suppose."

Their walk recommenced. They eventually came across a staircase that wheeled up into darkness. Emboldened, they hurried up, and up, and up. By the time they reached the top, their pace was considerably less hurried and Mara, at least, was extremely aware of each bruise on her body. They rested when they reached level ground.

"What will we do?" Mara asked, calming her lungs. "Now that we're back up."

"Find the device," Fastion answered, "and take it far away."

Mara nodded. "Sounds good to me."

They had only taken a few steps when Fastion grabbed her arm and pulled her to the wall. They waited in silence, until Mara dared to whisper, "What is it?"

"I heard a voice," he answered. "Perhaps it was nothing." Despite his words, he drew his sword. They crept forward, carefully rounding a corner, then another.

"No!"

Mara jumped. The echo swooped past them into the darkness. Fastion raised the torch away from his face, sinking down into a fighting stance so elegant Mara vowed never to even try sword fighting again. She watched him move ahead, each step silent and deliberate, his body held with practiced precision.

"No! Stop!"

Mara kindled a flame, fully prepared to scorch anyone who attacked.

"I know where we are," Fastion hissed over his shoulder.

"Stop, please! You're destroying everything!"

He slipped the torch into an empty sconce and gestured for Mara to join him. "Dakrias Brown," he whispered into her ear.

"It's not here!" The man was crying. "It's not here! Please stop!"

Mara extinguished her flame and they snuck down the hallway until they reached the office. The door stood wide open and torchlight spilled onto the stone, flickering with shadows. From inside the room came thumps and knocks, as well as Brown's impassioned pleas. Fastion leaned around the doorway and peered inside.

"There are two Black Shields," he hissed. "They're tearing his archives apart."

"But he's uninjured?"

"By all appearances."

"We have to help him." She moved and Fastion grabbed her.

"We are in no condition to fight."

"I can light them on fire," Mara hissed.

"We will not kill them," he growled, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Ooooh! You're worst than the ghosts! No! No! Not that box! Please don't – oooh nooo!"

"Then what do you want us to do?" Flames sparked over her fingers.

"We will wait – "

"Wait? Until what? Until they kill him like they've killed everyone else?"

"They haven't hurt him yet. They appear to be ignoring him."

"And when they stop ignoring him, what then?" She craned her neck to look around him. "We can take them by surprise now."

"We will wait until they leave. They are only searching his collection."

"You can't know that!" She tried to move past him again, but he took both her arms and forced her back against the wall.

"Do not," he growled.

From inside the room, Dakrias gave a distraught moan. "Can't you just look inside? Do you have to dump them everywhere like that? Oh no, no, no! Not that one – please!" There was a great crash, echoed by the man's aggrieved cry. "Why are you doing this?"

Mara and Fastion glared at each other. "Can't we just distract them?" Mara argued. "Make them chase us? We can lose them back in the shadows."

Fastion's jaw tightened, then he finally nodded and released her. She stepped into the doorway and gave a shout. Dakrias Brown turned to stare at her, but the Weapons ignored her as they worked their way deeper into the shelves. Mara frowned, then threw a flame at the wall. She remained ignored.

Fastion came to stand beside her. Dakrias whimpered and grabbed his already disheveled hair. "Not another one!" he moaned.

Mara threw her hands up. "They didn't even notice me."

Fastion stepped past her and approached the two Black Shields. They hardly glanced at him. "What are they searching for?" he asked as they emptied yet another box onto the floor.

"I don't know," Dakrias answered. "They just walked in here and began tearing things apart." He dragged his hands down his face.

Fastion suddenly snatched the wrist of one of the Black Shields. The woman paid him no heed, using her free hand to push more objects and files around. Fastion pulled on her arm. She moved past him to follow her companion along the shelf, but when Fastion's grip stopped her from walking, she stood in place, staring ahead at nothing. Fastion stepped nearer and took her other wrist.

Her head snapped around, eyes fixating on his face. Her features were disconcertingly blank, even as she broke his grip and lashed out at him with her fists. Weaponless, they seemed to dance – stepping, ducking, striking. Fastion seemed stiffer than the other, however, and Mara watched his features grow paler and more strained. A single line of blood trickled from beneath the dirty wrappings around his head and she clomped down on her fingernails.

"This is terrible, simply terrible," Dakrias lamented.

Mara flinched as the woman struck Fastion's jaw. His eyes glazed for an instant and the woman landed another hit to his stomach. _Gods,_ _what am I doing? _Mara thought. Kindling fire, she rushed forward and lashed out at Fastion's opponent. She gave a shriek and clawed at her scorched eyes. Fastion grabbed her neck and after a moment, she fell limp in his grip. He lowered her to the ground, then went to find the other Weapon. The man seemed completely unaware that any sort of altercation had occurred and he obliviously dumped another container. Fastion quickly rendered him unconscious.

"Do you have any rope?" Mara asked Dakrias, who stared at her.

"Rope? What use would I have for rope down here?"

Mara joined Fastion, who was undoing the Weapon's belt. He removed the man's gauntlets and boots, then strapped his wrists and ankles together, tightening the belt until the leather sliced into his skin. Mara did likewise to the woman.

"Are – are you not traitors, then?" Dakrias inquired nervously. Fastion glanced at him, then took the Weapons' swords and stuck them high on a shelf, behind boxes. He teetered after hiding them, his face alarmingly white. Mara grabbed him.

"Here, over here, quickly!" Dakrias ushered them to his chair and Fastion sunk onto it, shaking. "Use this." Dakrias tossed Mara a wide square cloth from his desk and she quickly tore it up. She replaced the wrappings, grimacing as her eyes fell on the glistening wound.

"It's good to see that someone in this castle still their wits about them." Dakrias crouched and shuffled some papers on the floor, his face turned down in misery.

"Have you been badly treated?" Mara asked as she tied the new bandages. She gently wiped the blood from Fastion's cheek.

Dakrias sighed. "Just what you see here. I was in the main corridors earlier, but no one noticed me – thank the gods." He raised his head. "You two look like you've seen better times."

"Mara…" Fastion whispered, taking her hand.

"What is it?"

"There…look." He pointed at the floor. Mara followed his finger.

"What? I don't see anything." She crouched beside Dakrias and moved papers.

"There!" Fastion fell to his knees beside her, pulling a sheet of paper out. "It's the carvings from the room."

"Oh yes," Dakrias said, readjusting his spectacles. "Rubbings, they're called. I don't know where they came from."

"Are there more of them?"

He sighed and held out his arms at the disaster that was his office. "Somewhere."

The threesome scoured the mess, neatly piling perused papers into some semblance of order as they went. Slowly, the collection of rubbings increased until they stretched across the floor in similitude of the original carvings.

"This is the part that was worn off." Fastion and Mara leaned over the papers, head-to-head.

"All right…so here's the Arcosian – oh, here's the Arcosian's death. Wow. He's definitely dead there." Mara moved past the dismembered body.

"They've taken apart the device. See? Here's the smaller part, the one we found."

"So it's two pieces. That's why it looked so big in the earlier depictions. They broke it into two pieces and took the little piece and put it down in the castle, and then the bigger piece…" Mara traced a finger along the rubbing. "They sent with a Green Rider." She smiled. _Of course_. "The Rider rode away…somewhere…" She squinted. "I can't tell what that is. Can you?"

Fastion shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It's too smeared."

Dakrias, who had been silently listening, finally spoke. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but may I ask what this is all about?"

Mara sat cross-legged on the floor. "Don't you know what's been happening the last few days?"

"Not precisely." He shrugged at their expressions. "I spend most of my time here. No one has come down until now. I do know, however, that the Black Shields are gone…strange." He eyed Fastion uncertainly.

"There is a device," Fastion said. "A magical one. Mara and I found it some time ago. Somehow it is controlling the Black Shields and other military units." He gestured to the rubbings. "We think this is depicting a time when it took control in the past."

"Yes, yes…. Those rubbings are very old." Dakrias pulled at his lip. "What is the king doing about all this?"

"The king…isn't here."

Dakrias blinked, his eyes magnified by his spectacles. "Isn't here? Where has he gone in a time like this?"

Fastion and Mara exchanged a glance. "We…don't know where he is. But Karigan G'ladheon is with him." Mara smiled weakly. "That counts for something, right?"

Dakrias stood and began pacing, jerking his hands through his wiry hair. "This is truly terrible. Worse than I could have imagined. And this device – this is what these ones were looking for?" He gestured at the restrained Weapons.

"No…unless they've misplaced it. They took it from its original place."

Dakrias stopped pacing, pulling on his lip again. "This…yes, this is familiar…something I read a long time ago…perhaps, perhaps…" He disappeared back into his archives.

Mara glanced at Fastion. "How is your head?"

"A nuisance." He rose back onto Dakrias Brown's chair.

"Your jaw is bruised," Mara said, kneeling before him and turning his head. "It's swelling."

"We are trained to hit hard," he responded. Mara wasn't sure if he was trying to be funny or if he was just stating a fact.

"Yes, well, she'll discover a few bruises of her own when she wakes up." She smiled at him and he returned it, barely. Persisting, she said, "These rubbings are good news. I'm glad somebody thought to copy the carvings down."

"Yes…" He squinted at the pages. "It is a good insight into how much destruction will happen before this is all over."

Mara frowned at him. "You're excelling at crushing all my hope."

This got her a wider smile. "I apologize. These carvings, however, don't tell us how they were able to take the device apart."

"Here it is." Dakrias emerged from his archives. "Lucky you got here when you did, most of my files are still in place." He plopped scrolls onto his desk. "Now…I recall reading an interesting story…" He stretched open a scroll. "Here…"

Mara and Fastion stood close around him. The scroll was written in Old Sacoridian, with intricate images dotting it.

"Yes… 'The doorways have been successfully sealed' … 'The rooms around will be emptied' … la da da…. Oh! Yes. Here we go: 'Four Black Shields have been chained, their weapons removed, and placed two at each doorway as a warning for any who try to retrieve and use the – ' Oh dear. That's a word I can't pronounce. Arcosian, I think."

"The device," Fastion murmured. Mara glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable.

"Yes…must be. Anyway, 'These four have stepped forward to be made examples. Their code allows for nothing else.'" Dakrias sighed. "That's all, I'm afraid."

"That's it? There's nothing about the device or what happened?"

"No. I was very much confused when I first read this. I couldn't find any other reference to the sealing of a room, or the voluntary deaths of four Black Shields. However, I do have these." He pushed the scroll aside and opened two more. "The scribe that wrote these translated them from an Arcosian tome. It's a list of torture devices used by the Empire against its enemies. I read through it once, but apart from its general morbidity, it had nothing to offer. But when you mentioned the controlling of minds, it reminded me…" He began reading.

"Here. This is it." Fastion lifted the second scroll. He pointed to a drawing. "That's the device."

"There's two pieces there." Mara squinted at it. "But it's not like the carvings." In this image, the device was in its complete form, not taken apart at all. A second, unfamiliar square was depicted beside it. She glanced at the rubbings. There was no sign of this square anywhere.

Dakrias took the scroll from Fastion and peered at it through his spectacles. His lips moved as he read, his bushy eyebrows twitching occasionally.

"What does it say?"

"This device was created after arriving in Sacoridia, but it never worked. It was tossed away as garbage…it was supposed to take control of its victim, make him hallucinate until he was driven mad."

"Only one victim?" Mara murmured.

"If that is what it was supposed to do, and it failed, what did it really do?"

Dakrias read further. "Hmmm…nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yes. The victim was apparently unaffected. They couldn't figure out what was wrong with it, so they tossed it aside."

"What about the different parts?"

"There was the…oh dear, that really is a strange word. There was the device, as you know, then the…err…I'm not sure what that word means, but it says that this square piece was meant to control the power of the device – turn it on and off, so to speak."

Fastion turned to the carvings. "It's not depicted here."

"Then how did they stop it?" Mara wondered. Fastion knelt and touched a rubbing. On it, numerous dead bodies littered the ground around the device.

"They fought to get to it, tore it into two pieces, and separated them."

Mara shook her head. "I don't understand how we could have forgotten about this. How did this get lost to history?"

Dakrias smiled at her. "The D'Yer wall is falling to pieces. Why can't we fix it?"

She stared at him, then sunk down onto the chair, her head bowed.

"We have been negligent," Fastion said, standing. "And now we are paying for it."

Dakrias let the scrolls roll up. "I will look to see if there is anything more than can help us." He disappeared back into the archives.

Mara glanced at Fastion. He was rereading the first scroll that told about the Black Shields. Something glinted in his eyes.

"A price must be paid…" he murmured, "A price for our leniency…."

Mara grew cold. "Fastion…the king won't hold you accountable for what the Black Shields have done." She hoped.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "The king has no say in it," he responded simply. "This is a matter to be settled among us." His fingers lingered on the page before he allowed it to roll back up. "Weakness must be punished."

Mara gaped at him. He smiled – he actually _smiled _at her and said, "I will assist Dakrias Brown," then walked back into the archives.


	19. Chapter 19

**Remember when I wanted to finish this story before **_**Blackveil **_**came out? Yeah. I do too.**

…

The Spinter home looked even drearier this day. Dark clouds drooped low in the sky, weighing against the wilted boughs of the surrounding trees. Karigan shivered in her coat. The scent of rain hinted at a storm hovering just beyond breaking. Dismounting, she led Condor into the fenced-off yard and hurried up the steps to the front door. She gave it a brisk knock, then shoved her hands into her pockets. The clouds had come unexpectedly, ruining what she hoped would be a beautiful day. She needed the sun.

The door opened. Karigan had forgotten how tall Marli stood. The woman first gazed down at her with steady green eyes, then her classic features pulled into a belated smile. "Karigan, yes?"

"Yes. I hope I haven't come at a bad time…?"

"Not at all. What can I help you with?"

Light rain dribbled down Karigan's shirt. She peeked into the house, hoping to be invited inside, but Marli showed no inclination to move. "I have some questions," Karigan began, trying to keep her shivering concealed, "about Green Riders that came to this village some time ago." Marli stiffened and a slight flush colored her cheeks. Karigan hurried on, "The last thing I want to do is pry into business that isn't my own, but it is my duty to find out as much information as I can about them."

"Thank you," Marli said coolly, "for not prying." She stepped back and swung the door shut. Karigan blinked at the wood, gritted her teeth, and knocked again. She waited, and in no mood to be trifled with, lifted her fist and pounded. It opened, but before Marli could speak Karigan growled, "By order of King Zachary himself I demand to be let in."

Marli's eyes narrowed, but a voice called from behind, "Marli, let the Rider in."

Marli's chin rose imperceptibly as she moved from the doorframe. Karigan stepped inside, scattering raindrops as she passed into the main room. Fedir lounged on an old, threadbare chair, a pipe stuck between his teeth. He nodded to a second chair and Karigan took it. "Come to ask me about corpses?" he said, half-joking. Karigan draped her coat over her legs.

"Yes."

He sighed and stretched. "Say what you have to say."

Marli perched herself on the arm of her husband's chair, entrapping Karigan in her cool gaze. Karigan ignored her. "Mickey Morriseen says that a Green Rider delivered the news of your father's death and was never seen returning from your home. The vision of the corpse I saw in your hayloft was a Green Rider. I don't – " She exhaled sharply and jerked a hand through her damp hair. "I don't think you're capable of murder. I just don't. And I don't know why I saw that vision in your stable, but I did. Please, can you just tell me what happened? Anything at all?"

"I'll get you something hot to drink," Marli said, surprising Karigan with her abrupt warmth. Karigan stared after her as she left the room.

"My wife thought you were here to arrest me," Fedir explained, taking a long draw on his pipe. He looked thoughtfully at the smoke, then said, "Rider Shenden Trembal. That was his name. Shenden Trembal. Nice young man. Too young, I think, for the king to be shipping him out to the wilds of Sacoridia. He was nervous to deliver the message." He chuckled. "Shaking so bad I thought he'd fall over right in front of me." Another draw of the pipe. "He told me about my father's fate and handed me his few possessions. Marli served him dinner. Jolly fellow, once he calmed down. Stayed late into the night, said his goodbyes, and left. We assumed he went back to Sacor City." He sighed and seemed to settle into himself.

"What happened then?" Karigan accepted the tea Marli handed her. Marli glanced at her husband, then took up the story.

"A few weeks later, a second Rider showed up on the island looking for Shenden. She didn't explain to anyone why she felt he had gone missing. Maybe they were going to meet somewhere and he never appeared. She was sent to our home. She was a very gentle young woman, very sweet. From the way she talked about him, I think she loved him. Fedir disagrees, but what do men know, really?" Marli winked at Karigan, who giggled at Fedir's long-suffering expression. "Anyway, she left when we didn't have any information to give." Marli's face fell into a frown. "Then she went into the stable to fetch her horse."

"Smelled him, same as you did. Hunted around until she found his body." Fedir sighed. "Started screaming something awful."

Karigan lowered her teacup. "You hadn't seen his body before that?"

"It wasn't there!" Fedir cried. "I think I'd notice a body rotting in my hayloft. And she didn't even notice it either when she first arrived. Someone had to have planted it there, to frame us." He shook his head, clearly agitated. "She came down at us, told us she would report us to the king for murder, and rode off without a backward glance."

"We waited for weeks, then months, then years. Nothing ever happened."

"Not until you came by and stirred things up again." Fedir winked at Karigan.

"What did you do with his body?"

"Gave him a proper burial, out in the woods. We sent his gear back with a merchant 'van."

Karigan sipped her tea, staring at Fedir's crossed ankles. "And that's it?"

"That's it."

She took another sip. After a moment she smiled up at Marli. "So you didn't attack him with your magic."

Fedir barked with laughter and Marli's eyes rolled. "I don't know any magic," she said. "You'll find that very few of Second Empire actually do."

"But what about Zachary's back? It was completely healed less than a day after he saw you."

Marli smiled indulgently. "Healing balms aren't magical. One just has to know the proper ingredients."

Karigan peered into her tea, wondering what sort of ingredients were in it. "Did your mother teach you?"

Marli moved to her own chair. "Yes. Dear Mother. She was an angel—an angel sent into a family of devils." She shook her head. "As you probably already know, they're obsessed with their ancestors. They feel the need to reestablish what Mornhavon thrust onto this country. My mother's family had a device, something left over from the Long War. I'm not sure how it worked, but they wanted to use it against the monarchy." Her eyes darkened. "I can still remember the night my mother snuck me out of our house. She was extremely brave. She stole the device and we ran far, far away, but they chased us. Mother sent me ahead with the machine. I never saw her again." She paused, then continued, "I hid the device in some caves I found deeper into the island, then stumbled upon this village. That is when Fedir's family found me." She smiled down at her husband.

"You left the device there?"

"Yes. Everyone here knows the caves—they were used in the Long War to hide when Mornhavon's troops came. The older children love to play in them, but they know not to go too far in, for fear of getting lost. The device is far in the back, out of reach." Her brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't remember exactly where it is, however. Rest assured, it's hidden well. That part of it, anyway."

"That part?"

"There was a second: a small key on a chain. It was supposed to control the device."

"What did you do with it?"

"I gave it to Rider Larten, the young woman. She was supposed to take it back to the king."

Karigan nodded slowly, then set her teacup down and stood. "Thank you," she said, "for telling me. I've taken up too much of your time."

"Wait, wait. You know our lives. We know nothing about you." Fedir leaned toward her, smiling. "What's your story?"

Karigan sunk back into her chair. "Um—well. My name is Karigan G'ladheon. I hail from Corsa, in L'Petrie Province."

"G'ladheon?" Marli echoed, her expression one of wonder. "You mean—"

"Mama?" Dagon's voice accompanied the opening and slamming of the front door. "Mama, are you—oh." Seeing Karigan, Dagon stopped in the doorway. "Never mind."

"No, what is it Dagon?"

"Nothing. I was just—"

"Dagon, what happened to your hand?" Marli stood and in two long strides was at her son's side. She grasped his wrist and peered down at his palm.

With a frightened glance at Karigan, Dagon said, "Nothing, mum. It's nothing."

"This is a horrible burn. When did it happen? Why didn't you come to me?"

Fedir had stood and Karigan followed suit. What she and Zachary had thought to be a tattoo was now a festering, angry burn and not in the least bit black.

"It's nothing, mum." Dagon tried to pull his hand away, but Marli refused to release it. She looked at Karigan.

"You thought this was a tattoo?"

Karigan stammered. "It-it was black when I saw it, but I only caught a glance."

"What happened, son?" Fedir inquired gently. Dagon looked from one person to another in desperation.

"It wasn't—"

"Dagon."

He sighed. "It was the day you and Zachary helped me with the fight. I went into town like you asked me to, to get the supplies you wanted, mama. I burned myself." He shrugged. "That's all."

"_How _did you burn yourself, Dagon?"

He tossed his head impatiently, shooting vehement glances at Karigan as though this was all her fault. "It was—Mickey."

"Mickey Morriseen? The blacksmith?"

Dagon nodded sullenly. "Yeah. He wanted to ask me a question, so I went into his smithy. We got in an argument and I – tripped and grabbed some hot metal. That's all."

"An argument about what? I want a clear answer, Dagon."

"I don't know. He kept wanting to know how something worked."

"Did you really trip?" Karigan asked softly. "Or did he attack you?"

Dagon glared at her. "I didn't know what he was talking about. I knew he had been drinking, so I tried to leave. He was holding some tool or something and he swung it. The soot got all over my hand when I grabbed it. That's it."

"Stay here. I'm going to get my supplies." Marli swept out of the room, leaving fury in her wake. When Dagon wasn't scowling at Karigan, he scowled at the floor. Fedir laid a hand on Karigan's shoulder.

"Perhaps you'd best go," he murmured. She nodded.

"Thank you again." With a nod to Dagon, she left the house, pulling her collar up again the wind. The rain had ceased, thank the gods, but the clouds above threatened to dump more. She mounted Condor and headed toward Rena's home, feeling quite pleased with herself. She knew Marli and Fedir were incapable of murder, and had just been proven right. She didn't doubt they were telling the truth.

But if they hadn't killed the Rider, then who had? Who put his body up in their stable? And how strange about Mickey attacking Dagon. Karigan frowned thoughtfully. Maybe Mickey…he had been something of a lout, but what motive would he have for killing a Green Rider?

She needed to speak with Zachary. His brain would be able to put things together. He disappeared early this morning, perhaps he went to find out more—

Her hands tightened around the reins. No. She couldn't speak with him. She huddled down into her coat. She should go to the blacksmith and ask him some questions. Unless Zachary was there. No, she should just stick to her original plan and return to Rena's and ask her about the inn. But then again, Zachary might be there. Then she should go…somewhere else, where he wasn't.

The sun broke through the clouds for a short instant. Maybe she would just go for a ride around the island. She had reached a fork in the road a bit earlier and she reared Condor around to find it again. From this vantage point, she noticed for the first time a billowing of thick, black smoke. It almost disappeared against the darkness of the clouds, but she could see it shifting and moving independently of the stormy sky. A fire? A big fire. She clicked Condor into a trot, then a lope.

…

His emotions battling between exultation and terror, Zachary stepped into the house. Ainsley and his sons were out working, he knew, and Rena was somewhere working just as hard. He passed quickly by the door to the kitchen and crept up the staircase. His heart banged against his ribcage as he mounted the last step and turned down the hall. He peeked into Karigan's room. Empty. A small frown puckering his brow, he glanced at the bathing room. The door was wide open. Perhaps she was with Rena.

He hurried down the stairs and forced himself to look inside the kitchen. Empty. He went back outside and rounded the house. Rena stood amongst her drying laundry, shaking her head and muttering in her native language. When she saw him, she threw out her arm. "Look at clothes! Ruined by dirty rain. Always happens to me. Of course when I clean clothes, the gods send rain to make themselves laugh."

Zachary grinned and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Have you seen Karigan?"

"I see her in this morning. She runs from bedroom to bath like something chases her. After longest bath, creeps downstairs, takes some food, and say she going to Spinters."

_Spinters? _Zachary mused. Interesting.

"I no see you this morning. Something chase you, too?"

"Something stole my sleep away. Thank you." He turned toward the stable, but remembered Karigan's vision from the previous night. "Rena," he said, turning back to the woman. "Was your home once an inn?"

Rena chuckled. "Yes. Long time ago. But no one comes to island for fun. We shut down, husband rebuild house, we have family."

"Mmm." Zachary dug the toe of his boot in the grass. "Did a Green Rider ever come through? A young woman?"

"We had some Riders come. But young woman…" Her face creased as she thought. "I remember one young lady. She come looking for another Rider. Pretty and small, delicate. She didn't look strong enough to be out traveling. She spent one night here and next night she get room, leaves stuff, goes outside and…" Rena shook her head and shrugged. "I no see her again. Her horse gone, too. I think she leave urgent-like."

Zachary stared past Rena. "What did you do with her things?"

"I sent them to castle with travelers." She finally began taking down her ruined laundry. "I clean these again," she explained. "Take so long."

"Of course. Thank you, Rena."

"Wait, Zachy." Rena took his hand and looked intently into his eyes. "You love my little Kari so."

His heart palpitated, but the warmth in Rena's gaze quieted his frayed nerves. "Yes," he replied simply. "Yes I do."

"She is scared, my little Kari. But I know she love you back." Her grip tightened around his fingers. "You need all happiness. I see so much sadness in others. Mickey, who loves dear Ann. AnnElyse, who loves dear Fedir. But no love back." She rested her hand on his flushed cheek. "She is scared, but you must not lose her, Zachy. You must keep trying. No giving up."

He held her ardent gaze and pressed a kiss into her callused palm. "Thank you, Rena," he murmured huskily. More affected than he cared to admit, he turned and half ran to the stable.

Night Hawk seemed to have forgiven him, as he accepted his tack without complaint. Zachary rubbed his fuzzy nose and mounted. Alternating between a lope and a trot, he followed the old road back to the Spinter home. As he left the confines of the village, however, a new smell drifted along the breeze. Smoke. He looked about. He could see nothing from here and he shrugged it off as trivial. The more he rode, however, the stronger the smell became. He stood in his stirrups and scanned his surroundings, then looked up at the sky. A plume of black smoke curled into the clouds. It seemed to originate from the trees in which the Spinters lived, or maybe even further, at AnnElyse's house.

"Just once more, Night Hawk," he whispered as he kicked the horse's flanks. Night Hawk lunged forward and they were flying down the road. He neared the Spinters' house, but the smoke indeed came from further away. Bypassing the path to their home, he rode around a large bend and pulled Night Hawk to an abrupt halt.

AnnElyse's house spouted flames. Fire belched from shattered windows and licked the surrounding gardens. Some dedicated neighbors had already created a bucket brigade, men and women toiling frantically, running back and forth from a well the small circle of houses shared. Night Hawk flew down the slope, veering away crazily as Zachary flung himself from the saddle and bolted to the panicked, busy villagers.

"It's spreading too fast," someone was shouting.

"Jem's gone for help. Where's that water?" another person hollered.

The smoke blocked out what little sun shone through the clouds. Zachary squinted at the house. He was just here, less than an hour ago. What happened? The red tongues of flame gutting the inside of the house turned his stomach upside down. He grabbed the nearest person.

"Where's AnnElyse?" he demanded. "Is the family out?" The man looked at him in confusion, then exchanged blank looks with some of the others.

"I – I don't know. It started so fast."

Zachary looked up as pounding hoofbeats approached. Karigan leapt from the saddle and rushed toward him. "What happened?" she asked, wide eyes on the flaming house. Wide blue eyes. Zachary's hand closed around the necklace in his pocket.

"We don't know. We just looked out our windows and saw the flames," someone answered.

"Are there people inside?"

"There!"

Zachary spun. AnnElyse stumbled out of her front door, coughing and covered in soot. Zachary hurried to help her away from the blazing building, lowering her carefully onto the grass.

"M-M-M – " she choked, clutching his shirt with trembling hands. Zachary grasped them tightly.

"Your children, AnnElyse. Are they inside?"

Nodding roughly, she gasped, barely audible, "M-M-Mat's s-sick. He was – " Hacking coughs. " – He was asleep. Emmi – " More coughs.

"Her children are inside," Zachary said for all to hear, passing AnnElyse's weight to another villager. In silent accord, he and Karigan sprinted madly for the door.

"You should stay outside," Karigan said as an afterthought. He looked at her sideways, then plunged inside.

Flames roared around them. At once, they felt the astonishing heat. Zachary raised his arm to cover his stinging eyes. "The stairs are over there," he shouted above the crackling of the fire.

"You look for Mat," she responded. "I'll find Emmi."

A gust of wind sent sparks whipping. They stumbled in the general direction of the staircase, avoiding spitting flames and collapsing furniture. _Such a beautiful home, ruined_, the king thought as they pulled themselves up to the second floor. Fire had eaten holes in the floorboards and angry red hands snatched at their ankles as they ran. Karigan moved away, but Zachary snatched her arm, pulling the necklace from his pocket.

"This is for you," he shouted. She stared at him, then at the necklace. "It's a necklace. For you. Take it, with my apologies." Thrusting it into her unwilling hands, Zachary turned and raced down the hall. He threw open door after door, at once surprised and furious at how much bigger the house was than it looked. Smoke forced him on his hands and knees and he gagged as he crawled into the last room. Mat lay on a narrow bed, by all appearances unconscious. Zachary stood and pulled the young man off the mattress, dragging him along as he stumbled back into the hallway.

Blinded by smoke and barely able to get breath in, Zachary made it to the stairs. Mat's feet thumped down each step as the king hauled him down to the bottom floor and out the front door. Helping hands pulled the boy's weight away and assisted him down onto the grass.

"Is-is Karigan – out?" he gasped, gulping in lungfuls of cool, wet air.

"No, sir. We haven't seen her since you two went in."

"Zachary!"

The king looked up. Fedir rushed toward him. The man dropped to his knees beside him. "You're all smoke!" he cried, clasping his arm. "Drink this." He held a flask of water and Zachary gulped it gratefully, spitting when the water became black sludge in his mouth.

"Karigan's in there," he mumbled, standing. "I have to find her."

"I'll go in. You need to stay here."

"No. I know where she is." He pushed Fedir away and staggered back into the house, ignoring the panic that made his limbs freeze up. No time for fear, he thought, even as some part of the house cracked and collapsed. His entire body began shaking and begged for him to turn away, but he gritted his teeth against it. _Emmi._ _Karigan_.

The smoke now was like a solid wall. All about him was heat and sound—the hideous grinding roar that told of the voracious appetite of the flames. He was coughing rackingly, and he dropped to his knees and crawled to the stairs. That panic from before made him gag almost as much as the smoke and he hesitated at the foot of the stairs, trembling. Somewhere, something exploded and he threw himself down onto the floorboards. His fingers dug into the wood and he closed his eyes, breathing as evenly as possible. _Up, Zachary, _he thought. _Up._ Something smacked into him and he turned to face a long, furry snout. "Terrier," he gasped. The dog nipped at his sleeve, pulling him. Zachary looped one arm around the mutt's neck and dragged himself up the stairs.

Terrier growled, his teeth clamped around the king's sleeve, and heaved him down the hall. The floors creaked ominously beneath him. Flames ate up the walls and pried through floorboards, threatening to collapse the entire floor. As he crawled, he stared down through the cracks. Any second. Any second they could fall away beneath him. His head knocked into something and he looked up at a ladder. What in Aeryc's name was a ladder doing in the middle of a hallway?

He craned his neck higher. The ladder led to a hole in the ceiling—an attic. He grasped it and climbed with shaking limbs, leaving Terrier barking at the base. He lifted his head into the opening. "Karigan?" he croaked, his breath rushing through his cracked, dry throat.

"Take her." Karigan dropped to her knees, holding the little girl out. She had wrapped Emmi up in her coat and two terrified eyes peeped at him. Balancing on one rung, he tucked the girl under his chin and, whispering for her to hold on, descended the ladder.

Terrier barked gleefully when Zachary's feet reached the ground. The wood cracked beneath his weight, however, and he let out an alarmed cry as his left leg shot through. Fire curled up through the hole, chewing on his clothing and blistering his skin. Emmi was whimpering. No…no, that was him. Terrier took a mouthful of his shirt and pulled. Still clutching Emmi's tiny body, Zachary pulled himself up and scooted toward the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder, but the ladder and attic were concealed behind the smoke. He wanted to call back to Karigan, but he couldn't speak—there wasn't enough breath. His lungs were smothering in his chest.

A deafening crash and the hallway ahead of him collapsed into a pit of angry scarlet flames. He lurched toward the disintegrating staircase and found himself tumbling helplessly down. The wood shattered beneath him. _Karigan_, he thought despairingly. _Karigan, Karigan, Karigan._

A tongue on his face and Terrier was pulling at his shirt again. He was blind, suffocated, and burned, but Emmi whispered incoherently to him and he wrapped his fingers around Terrier's scruffy neck. He dragged his useless body along the smoldering floor. _Karigan…Karigan…_. He had tried, he thought. He had tried. And it really didn't matter anymore. From a great distance, he could hear a woman screaming. He prayed, as he faded, that it was not Karigan….

…

Rain. He heard rain, but he was dry. His throat was clear of smoke. The taste of something sweet lingered in his mouth. A hand suddenly pressed something wet against his nose and lips.

"Inhale…" a woman whispered. He rolled his stinging eyes up. Marli. Marli Spinter. "Inhale," she repeated. "It'll clear the smoke from your lungs."

He did as she bade. Sweetness rushed through his mouth and down into his lungs. Immediately he began to cough, hacking up repugnant black mud. She handed him a flask. He swished the water around in his mouth, spat it out, swallowed more, spat it out.

"Karigan…?" he wheezed. Marli's fine features creased into a frown. She turned her head to look the opposite way. She looked back at him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "She didn't make it out."

Zachary stared at her. _Didn't make it out?_ He was lying on a bed. He got off. Marli hurried to help him stand.

"Zachary, please. You need to lie down."

"I will not lie down," he growled, staggering away.

"Zachary, stop. She's gone, Zachary."

He jerked his arm out of her grip. He stumbled out of the room and down an unfamiliar hallway. Voices murmured in a lit room up ahead and he headed there. In the burning house, he took Emmi, climbed down the ladder. Karigan had been right behind him. She had been right behind him.

Fedir stood when Zachary entered the room. "What are you doing up, Zachary?" he chided gently. "You need rest."

"Karigan?" Zachary asked. Fedir's face froze in place. The sorrow that crept into the man's eyes—the sorrow that…there was sorrow….

Zachary pushed him away and groped for the door. In the corner of his eye, there was AnnElyse. Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed. There were tears in her eyes.

The rain was louder out here. He prepared to leap off the porch. He prepared to run, barefoot, all the way back to AnnElyse's house. But then he looked down. Then he looked down and saw Emmi.

Her watery blue eyes swam with tears. Her pouty lower lip pouted further. Her hand was petting her dog. Terrier. Her hand ran over his matted, singed, bloody fur, again and again. Zachary dropped to his knees beside her. Her overflowing eyes searched his, pouty lip quivered, and a tiny hand clenched at the burnt fur.

"He saved us," she whimpered. Zachary's face twisted with pity. "He saved us, just like a Hilland Terrier would." Her voice tripped up in her throat. "He saved us and now he's dead." Her little body shook with sobs. "And now he's dead." She fell against the king's stomach, sobbing.

Zachary gathered her up in his arms. Terrier grinned up at him, his skin pulled away from his black gums. Great patches of fur were missing. His skin was melted.

"Now…he's dead…." Emmi wept. "He's dead."

Zachary rested his chin on her head. His thready breaths caught up in his throat. Tears boiled by the fire flamed in his eyes. He turned and looked back into the house. Marli and Fedir watched him sympathetically. He must have looked a question, because Marli began nodding. Yes, she seemed to tell him. True.

He looked away and clutched Emmi even tighter. He pressed his face into her tousled curls. She was still crying and he found his smothered lungs echoing her gulps and hiccups. _Now she's dead_, he thought. _She saved me, and now she's dead_. The tears poured over his skin. Sobs shook his body.

_She saved me. She saved me. _

_And now she's dead. _

_She saved me._


	20. Chapter 20

…

Rena knocked softly and pressed an ear to the door. Thinking to have heard a faint 'come in,' she stepped into the room. Her Zachy lay on his side, a blanket tangled around his legs. One bandaged hand plucked vaguely at loose strings protruding from the pillow beneath his head. He looked up. There was no sadness in his dark, flashing eyes, no anger or regret. She almost wished there were, for his listlessness wrought with her tender heart more than any of his sorrow could.

"I bring you food," she murmured, placing the tray carefully on the side table. "How are burns?"

"They're much better, thank you," he responded, sitting up. Bandages encased his hands, arms, legs, and his feet where his boots had melted against his skin. A general flush colored his face, neck, and shoulders, and red rimmed his eyes. Whether it was because of the smoke or from crying, Rena didn't know.

"This is good," she said, gazing sadly down at him. "This is good." He concentrated on eating, politely ignoring her presence. "How have you slept?" she asked.

"As well as can be expected," he answered simply. He pushed some of the food around, then said, "I'd like to see AnnElyse's house today."

Rena hesitated. "We see what Marli say. Before, she say you stay here until healed. Today maybe different." After a pause she added, "House isn't much to see. Everything burned into black ashes." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He blinked and the cracker he held snapped in his fingers. "I see."

Overcome, Rena settled beside him and gently pulled him into her soft arms. Her face pressed into his hair, she murmured, "I am sorry, my love. I am so very sorry." When finally she released him, he pulled back from her, dragged one bandaged hand across his face, and returned to his meal.

"Thank you for the food," he said.

"You are welcome. I return to my home now. My men need me."

"Of course. I hope to see you again soon."

Rena gazed sorrowfully down at him, then touched his cheek briefly before departing.

…

He suffocated in a bed, covered with too many blankets. He couldn't feel his right arm, but he could feel the unwanted warmth of someone's body curled up beside him and the touch of their skin against his. Karigan? No, Karigan had snuck into his room through the secret passage. She leaned over him, a sword pressed to her lips and her hand over his mouth. "_Shhh_…" she whispered, then pulled the stifling blankets away and poised herself above him. He took her face and kissed her, long and deep, before pulling her down until their hearts threatened to break through their chests. But when he opened his eyes, she was on fire. Her mouth opened in a scream as the flames engulfed her.

Her ashes rained down onto the white blankets.

…

Marli crept carefully into the room and sighed. Emmi had snuck in again. She was curled up beside Zachary, her head tucked between his arm and chest. Her little hands clasped his skin. Setting her supplies down, Marli gently lifted Emmi from her warm nest and relocated her to her temporary bed in Dagon's room. Returning to Zachary, she was surprised to find him sitting up and trembling like a leaf. He had shoved the covers to the foot of the bed and he was pushing himself back against the headboard, staring at nothing in terror.

Marli hurried to take his hand in hers, chafing it gently until he finally took notice of her. She watched the emotion drain from his face until he settled back into the apathy that had previously dominated his features.

"Marli," he murmured.

She rested a hand on his cheek. "Nightmares?"

He frowned. "No, no. I'm just - hot," he responded. His free fingers jerked through his cropped hair, which hung short and choppy around his ears, the rest having been burned away in the fire. Fedir had completely shaved his beard as well, not bothering to even out what was left of it. She was surprised by how young he looked now, in spite of the new lines in his brow and around his tired eyes. For some reason, she had thought he was much older than this. Something in his manner…something in his deportment implied a maturity beyond his years.

"Once I get these wrappings off, I can prepare a cool bath for you." She began unwinding his hand. "Are you in pain?"

He shook his head. "Not much," he mumbled. He watched quietly as she unwound the bandages. As the silence pressed heavier and heavier upon them, Marli began telling him all she had discussed with Karigan. He listened impassively, his eyes following her hands as she worked. When she mentioned Dagon and the burn, Zachary's head tipped slightly, but nothing more.

"After Karigan left, I managed to pry more information from Dagon," she said, setting the used bandages in a pile on the end of the bed. "It seems that Mickey stumbled across my family's machine, in spite of its hiding place. He assumed Dagon would know how it worked. He doesn't, of course, and that sparked the fight." She huffed. "I can't imagine what he would be doing so far back in the caves." With a chuckle, she blundered, "Perhaps he was hiding a body." Her teeth snatched at her lip, but looking into his face, she found no reaction. She patted his knee and stood. "I'll go prepare that bath for you."

"May I go to the house today?"

Marli hesitated in the doorway. He was so strong, this Zachary, but was he strong enough? His apparent calm worried her, especially when it was broken with bouts of panic like the one she had just witnessed. "You're feeling that well?" she evaded, tapping her fingers against the doorframe.

"Much better than yesterday."

"But your feet, Zachary. You can hardly walk."

"Your medicine is working wonders, like it did before. I believe I would be able to manage."

Her fingers continued to drum. After another moment's hesitation, she sighed and said, "I would like you to wait one more day, at least, just to be certain. Your burns—"

"Damn my burns!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. With a gasp, he fell back onto the bed, eyes wide in shock at the pain. Sighing, Marli took up her ointment and fresh linen.

"Never mind the bath. You'll just have to bear with the bandages a little longer."

He threw his head back against the headboard, his velvet eyes glistening with remnants of rage and misery. Marli worked fast, wanting to leave him as quickly as she could. She glanced up at his face as she tied off the last bandage. He sobbed silently, tears streaking his skin, his lips pulled back over his teeth in a horribly tragic grin. Her throat constricting painfully, Marli grabbed her things and rushed out of the room.

…

He peered through the swirling dust of the stable. "Karigan?" he called softly. Night Hawk and Condor snuffled in their stalls, unfazed by the celebration happening just outside. He thought to hear her up in the hayloft and he climbed the ladder carefully. She huddled in a haystack, trying to keep herself warm in the dainty little nightgown she wore. She was sobbing and he wrapped her up against him. Her body convulsed in his arms as her pain tore through her being.

"I love you, Karigan G'ladheon," he whispered. "I love you."

Condor and Night Hawk screamed as the stable walls erupted into flames. He held Karigan tighter as the fire spread, eating through the hay and wood. Long shadows flickered as someone came into the stable. He stared at the ladder as it creaked with someone's weight. It was Fastion. The Weapon's white teeth flashed in the firelight as his lip curled. In an instant, a dagger was in his hand. "You are still alive," he said. "Fool." He lunged forward.

Karigan became still and cold. He peered through the smoke at her. A half-rotted corpse gaped back up at him, a dagger in her holey neck.

…

She didn't like seeing him so sad. She didn't like the way he cried, or the way he stared at the wall like there was something there, even though there wasn't. She didn't like his new haircut, and she especially didn't like the way he had screamed when she had accidentally woken him up.

He wasn't screaming now, though. No, he was staring at the blank wall again. Emmi looked down at the bandaged hand she held in her lap. She traced the long fingers, remembering when he had picked her up and thrown her into the air. She had shrieked like a little girl and he probably liked his ladies to act more like ladies.

But Karigan hadn't been a lady. She wore clothes like a man and her hair was always sloppy, and she had knocked Mr. Potts right off his feet. But Mr. Potts had knocked Zachary right off his feet. Karigan had acted just like a Black Weapon should act. Emmi smiled and leaned against Zachary's arm. Karigan would be a great Black Weapon.

Zachary's other hand came up to ruffle her hair. She raised her face to meet his gentle smile. "How are you, little one?"

Emmi sighed a great sigh. "I still see it when I sleep."

He bent to kiss her forehead. "I do too," he whispered.

"But you're not scared of it, though."

His eyebrows furrowed together and his great, terrier eyes became suddenly very sad. "It does scare me."

"Really? Is it the – " her voice lowered to a whisper, " – the man?"

"What man?"

"The man in the fire. He scares me more than the fire does."

"I didn't see a man."

"Oh, he was very scary." She clutched his arm, her eyes wide. "He was angry. He controlled the fire and told it where to go. He yelled and his eyes glowed."

Zachary managed a chuckle as he pulled Emmi into an embrace. "Well, the fire man is gone forever." His eyes became sad again and for some reason, he repeated, "Gone forever."

"Karigan yelled back at him. She probably finished him off." When he didn't answer, Emmi looked up into his face. "What's a gladstone?"

"A what?"

"A gladstone. The fire man wanted a gladstone, but I don't know what that is."

He was staring at the wall again. "I don't know what that is either."

Emmi frowned at him. Karigan was gone, that's what her mama told her. She said that Karigan and Terrier went with the Birdman, somewhere far away, somewhere Zachary and she couldn't follow. At the thought of her dog, Emmi shuddered and snuggled closer. It was all the man's fault. He had been angrier than the fire.

The door opened and Mama looked in. "Emmi, darling, let Zachary rest."

Emmi reluctantly pulled away from his embrace. He still stared at the wall, so she stood on the bed. Because he was sitting, she was eye-level with him and she turned his head to face her.

"No matter what," she said, looking deeply into his eyes, "I will love you forever." She pulled his head down and tenderly kissed his hot forehead. She was suddenly swept up in another hug, but this one was stronger. He kissed her cheek before letting her go. Deciding to never ever wash her face again, Emmi hopped down from the bed and hurried to her mother's waiting hands. Glancing back as she left the room, she saw that Zachary had stretched onto his stomach. Silently, she offered up a prayer that the fire man didn't bother him while he slept.

…

He lay in a bed, his face buried in pillows. He was hot, sweating, and uncomfortable. He shifted, managing to pull one arm out from beneath the blanket, but no relief came. His breaths came harshly as he tried to move. His limbs were all tangled up in sheets and they became even more tangled as he struggled. Trapped. He was trapped. His skin blistered as he fought to free himself. Too hot.

Running footsteps, then hands gripped his shoulder. He collapsed into immobility, panting. "Calm down," a voice whispered. He knew that voice. "You're safe." Those soft hands caressed his face and he allowed himself to be rolled onto his stomach. "Relax," the voice murmured, stroking his heated forehead. "You're safe."

The mist in his eyes burned away. The room was dark and heavy with wet air. Sea-scented wind drifted through the window, accompanied by crying seagulls. A hand still rested on his face and he raised his own to cover it, turning his head. Karigan.

"Good morning," she said. Her dimples peeped at him.

"Good morning," he responded. "How long was I asleep?"

"Not as long as you would think." Karigan pushed his hair from his sweaty face. "What do you remember?"

"A fire," he answered. "A building was burning. What happened?"

"I wish I knew," she replied. "I wish I had answers for you, but I don't."

"Where are we?"

"Marli Spinter's house."

"Does it remind you of home?"

She laughed, taking bread from a tray on the nearby table. "No. The smell, yes, but my father's estate is considerably bigger than this." She held the bread out enticingly before him. "Feel up to eating?"

She sat on the bed near his chest and he took the opportunity to study her closely. Her bare legs peeked out from beneath the lace hem of an adorable little nightgown that barely reached her knees. He knew she had lent her coat to Emmi and it was conspicuous by its absence, laying bare the smooth skin of her arms and chest. His eyes traveled up the curve of her throat, over the shadows playing on her face, along her elegant jaw line, and settled on that stubborn upper lip that drove him to distraction. It took a few moments, but he finally realized she watched him expectantly.

"I'm fine," he said. "Really."

She looked unconvinced, but traded the bread for seashells she pulled from her pocket. "I went to the beach earlier, Zachary. Look at these."

Zachary hoisted himself up onto his elbows and pushed the sandy shells around in her hand. "Beautiful."

"Do you see the red in this one?" She lifted one from the pile. "Like fire."

He examined it obediently, but his gaze drifted to her hair blazing in the light. "Beautiful," he repeated. Pain suddenly shot up through his leg into his back. His body convulsed and she held him tightly, the forgotten shells shattering on the floor. Finally he slumped into the pillows, his gasps diminishing into rattling breaths. "How…" he breathed, his hand curling tightly around hers, "…embarrassing."

She smiled. "It really is," she responded. "But not everyone can handle pain like me."

He chuckled. "I made a fool out of myself, didn't I?"

"No! No, not at all. It all came very unexpectedly." She leaned nearer. "I thought you were very brave."

"Especially when I almost fell into the fire."

"Well, what's more brave than facing certain death?"

"Risking my life all for the sick hope that two people who love each other can be happy and can live—" Another wave of pain pushed bile up into his throat and he jerked and cried out, clutching the bedding with his free hand.

Karigan leaned over him, resting one heated hand on his forehead and the other on his back. "You should be resting," she said. "I'll go."

"No—please. Don't." He grasped for her arm. "Please stay."

Her fingers trailed away from his forehead and over his shoulder, across the smooth skin and muscles of his back. She traced down his spine, then paused and whispered, "What nightmares must torment you." Bringing her legs up onto the bed, she curled around his hand, her skin burning hot against his. As he gave in to his exhaustion and his pain, he heard her murmur, "I'll be here when you wake up." He bent his neck to kiss the top of her head. It was all he wanted. But then she slipped away even as sleep overcame him.

And when he awoke, she wasn't there.


	21. Chapter 21

…

Something scurried over her leg. Karigan's recoil sent bones skittering across the ground to knock against the opposite wall. Her hand fell onto a skull and she hurled it from herself with a cry. The movement threw off her balance and she tipped off her rock and crashed onto the cold stone ground, as well as into the midst of the rest of the skeleton. Her breaths wheezy and disrupted by little sobs, she heaved herself painfully back onto her perch, pulling her legs up to her chest and dropping her head onto her knees. The only light in this hole was the glimmers flashing in her eyes, and they blinded her just as much as the crushing blackness. If only her head didn't pound so, she could begin to think clearly—come up with some way to escape.

Water chose to drip down her neck right then, shocking her with its suddenness and cold. She dashed it away roughly, then dropped her face into her hands. Blood from her bound wrists smeared across her skin and she let out a small moan. She could hardly feel her fingers, or her feet for that matter, so cold was it in this pit. Curling tighter, she tried to imagine herself somewhere far away, somewhere safe.

Zachary. She imagined herself with him. She pretended like she hadn't run from him that night. She was warm and safe in his arms, tucked beneath smooth blankets, cuddled on a deep bed. He held her closely, tightly, as though to keep her from running away. It was easier to imagine, now that she had tasted him. Now she could add memories to her fantasies.

"I love you, Karigan G'ladheon," he whispered. He was so warm, so soft. Nothing could hurt her here.

Something touched her arm and she plummeted back to reality, losing her balance once again. The lost Rider's ribcage thrust deep into her side and Karigan rolled over the bones, struggling vainly to ignore their creaking and cracking. She dragged herself across the floor until she found the opposite wall. She felt her way around the perimeter once again, hands groping and fingers clawing to find a way out—any way out. As she searched, she battled the hopelessness building in her chest. She had no idea where she was. Her hands closed into fists and she pounded the wall. But she had to get out. She had to. She would not die here.

She spit out the blood in her mouth and stretched her fingers again. She would get out, and when she did, she would find him.


	22. Chapter 22

…

Zachary softly shut the door and pressed his forehead against it. Despite all of their encouragement, he still felt like a fool for being cheered for walking down the hallway. Fedir and Marli had tried to engage him in lively conversation, but AnnElyse's dismal presence in the corner served as a reminder for why he had tucked himself away in the bedroom in the first place.

He pushed open his window, then crawled back onto the mattress and slipped beneath the wrinkly blanket. There was food on the table beside him. He wasn't hungry, but it still smelled delicious. Rena's cooking. She had remained devoted to him, bless her dear, adoring heart. Fedir made a point of coming in and talking inanely to keep him company. Ainsley and the boys had showed up at one point, and even Potts, now sporting two black eyes, paid his respects. He allowed himself a small smile. Before he was king, the time he had spent in Hillander had shown him how genuine the common man was. They were often far from common. After he was crowned, he was cut off from them. He became an icon, a figurehead, never a friend or a comrade. Here, he had friends. Real friends. Friends that cared for him, thought about him, joked with him, argued with him. Even his enemies were friends, in a way.

And they were concerned about him. Not just about his health; his burns were healing nicely and mysteriously fast. In reality, he could do far more than take a walk around the house, he simply did not have the desire. There were other things keeping him down, other things that concerned them. A grim smile crossed his face. They thought he was becoming…unstable—emotionally, maybe even mentally. Perhaps he was. After all, he had lost everything: his castle, his kingdom, he had almost lost his life and now Karigan was gone. Wasn't this the part when he fell into endless despair? Drove himself mad with grief and hopelessness?

Fedir wanted him to go. Not that they had had a falling out or anything of the sort. The gentle man simply thought that leaving the island would be best for him, as there were "too many memories here." Marli agreed. She thought he needed to get out of this entangling village as quickly as possible. It was making him obsessive.

But what was at the castle for him? Apart from traitorous soldiers, there were Lady Estora and a loveless wedding, lord-governors that would turn in an instant, ingratiation, insensitivity, codes, rules, walls, prisons. There were Mornhavon, Eletians, magic, Black Shields, and Green Riders. There was responsibility. There was duty. There was his collar, too, still probably sitting on its velvet pillow. Unless, of course, some usurper had taken it. A choice lay before him: return to that, or wallow in despair here.

He pulled the blanket up around his ears and stared at the wall. And they were worried that it was his grief that was overcoming him.

The door opened and Fedir entered with a cautious smile. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he settled on the end of the bed. Zachary pulled down the blanket and sat up. Fedir was going to tell him to leave again.

"Very well."

Fedir was avoiding his eyes. It was as though he was seeing something there that unnerved him. "It was good to see you outside today."

Zachary's eyes darkened as he watched Fedir looking at everything but him. "Yes."

"Right." Fedir stood and began pacing. "I came in to tell you…there are some villagers traveling north to Draper Hollow. There are merchant ships there from Corsa that are taking passengers."

Zachary looked down at his hands. "I see."

Fedir sighed. "Zachary, please. You have to accept—" He seemed unable to complete the sentence. "I want you to stay, I do, but it's not good for you here. Too many things happened."

"I know." How strange this was. In the castle, his advisers would be ordering him about. Here, it was his choice. He didn't know if he could ever go back after experiencing this freedom. "You're worried about me."

Fedir ran a hand over his balding head. "You aren't...acting yourself."

Zachary shifted, irritated. "I don't understand."

"You won't leave this room. You've gone out only that once to see AnnElyse's house and today was only the second time you came to the front rooms. Zachary—" He leaned in, taking the king's wrist. Zachary frowned at his hand. "Your life is gone. We can see it. This town, these memories, they're sucking it out of you."

Zachary's frown turned into a scowl. "It hasn't even been two days since the woman I love died." He pulled his arm away. "Please leave."

Fedir leaned back. "Zachary—"

"Go."

Fedir sighed and stood. Pausing in the doorway, he said softly, "The villagers are leaving tomorrow at dawn." He shut the door behind him. Zachary slid back down beneath the blanket and pulled it up around his ears. He couldn't leave. Regardless of where he went or what he did, he would always be missing a part of himself that could never be refound. This place was all he had left of her.

A sudden _caw _made him jump. He twisted around. A seagull perched on his windowsill. Its head twitched at him, beady eyes unnerving in its stare. He frowned at it. It cawed at him again. And again. And again. He slammed a pillow over his ears, but the irritating sounds still clawed at his frayed nerves. Finally he lobbed the pillow at the window. The bird left in a flurry of feathers and screeches. After a few moments, it returned and continued its jabbering. Feeling like he really was going to go mad, Zachary stood and rushed to the window. The seagull swooped away and he grabbed the panes, but paused before shutting them. A gray horse stood near the cliff edge. Beneath its ragged saddle, its spine drooped with age. Its ribs visibly lined its tattered coat. It gazed at the house with tired eyes. Zachary gazed back. A faded green breast collar hung from its sagging neck. A Rider horse.

Suddenly full of energy, Zachary pulled his boots over his bandages and limped out of his room, his shirt untucked and wrinkled, his hair sticking out at weird angles. He almost knocked Marli over in his rush.

"Zachary, what is it?" she asked, grasping his arms. "What's wrong?"

He mumbled incoherently as he pushed her hands away and stumbled outside. He rounded the house and came to a stop. The horse had turned and now faced him. Its eyes no longer looked tired; instead they stared at him with frightening intensity and intelligence. The king approached slowly. The saddle was warped but intact, the bridle was missing, and great patches of hair had disappeared from the gelding's flank.

"Who are you?" he whispered, running a hand down the horse's nose. The horse suddenly snatched his sleeve and yanked, tearing the fabric.

"Hey!"

The horse started and knocked Zachary back as it whirled around. With a whinny like none the king had ever heard, the gelding raced into the trees. Fedir hurried to Zachary's side. "Are you all right?"

Zachary frowned at him. "I'm fine. Why did you scare it away?"

"That horse is dangerous," Fedir said, checking Zachary's arm. "It's mad."

"It's a Green Rider horse."

Fedir paused. "Yes. It was Rider Trembal's horse. It appeared in town a short time after his body was found. It comes and goes, and runs wild down the streets. Oldest horse I've ever seen. Flat out refuses to die." He shook his head with a sigh.

Zachary stared at him, his brow knuckled. Fedir's words reminded him of something. Something...a faint memory... He said, "Take me to Rena's."

"Now, I don't think you're—"

"If you don't take me, then I will walk even if it makes my feet bleed."

Fedir considered him carefully, then nodded with a slight smile. "All right." He hitched his old horse to his wagon. After explaining to Marli where they were going, they set off. Zachary huddled in the back of the wagon, struggling with a distant memory niggling his mind. It was after Karigan found out about Lord Alton in Blackveil, after the hayloft. She knew he was alive, somehow, because of his horse. Something about his horse.

The moment Rena's house came into view, he leapt off the wagon and ran to the stable. As he neared, he heard thumping and shouts from inside. Stepping into the dim building, he saw Night Hawk pacing in his stall, ears pinned back. Beside him, Trev fought to catch Condor, who was, by all appearances, crazed. He reared and bucked, kicking the walls of his stall and tossing his head. Zachary stood for a moment, staring, trying to figure out what it meant. Night Hawk had refused to leave the D'Yer Wall after Alton disappeared…. Forming a plan, he carefully pulled Night Hawk from the stall and tacked him. Trev was too preoccupied to notice. Fedir, however, watched from the doorway.

"Zachary," he said suspiciously, "what are you doing?"

Zachary glanced at him wordlessly as he drew close to the boy. His anonymity here had given him a taste of something he hadn't had in a very long time: power. And he was afraid he liked it a little too much. In one movement, he shoved Trev aside, unlatched Condor's stall, and pulled the door open. The gelding burst out and charged from the stable. Fedir yelped and dove to the side. Zachary hauled himself into Night Hawk's saddle and urged him forward. As he raced away, he heard Fedir shouting, "You're as crazy as the horse!"

Condor was fast. Unguided by a rider, he flew across fields and through yards. Zachary followed, ignoring infuriated shouts from those he passed. His heart pounded in his throat. She was alive. She had to be. Condor knew it.

They ran past Fedir and Marli's home and finally stopped before the black remains of AnnElyse's. Condor pranced around in the ashes, tossing his head and snorting. Zachary watched him carefully. Night Hawk had stayed at the wall, waiting for Alton. Condor came to the house. There was something else. Something he was missing. Alton was knocked off the wall…by that sergeant…. Karigan was in the fire…she was in the fire….

"_Was it…"_

Emmi. What had she said?

"_Was it…the man?"_

"_What man?"_

"_The man in the fire. He scares me…"_

Zachary pulled Night Hawk around and hurried back to Fedir's house. AnnElyse sat in her customary chair near the window. She looked up in surprise as he came toward her.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"What?"

"What started the fire?"

AnnElyse's eyes flickered past him, fear making her hands tremble. "It was—an accident. I knocked over a-a lamp."

Zachary grabbed the arms of her chair, leaning into her face until their noses almost touched. "You're lying to me," he said in a low voice. "Do not lie to me."

Her eyes glanced past him again. "Pl-please, I don't—"

"Tell me what happened."

"I d-did."

"Tell me the truth."

"Please, I just lost my—"

He grabbed the back of the chair and shook it. "Karigan is dead!" he shouted. AnnElyse shrunk from him, clutching her embroidery to her chest. In a calmer voice, he repeated, "Tell me what happened."

Tears trembled on her lashes. "It-it was…Mickey."

Zachary leaned away, looming over her with his considerable height. "Mickey Morriseen."

"_I'm just a blacksmith…"_

AnnElyse nodded, gulping. "Yes. He came after you left. He was…angry and drunk."

"What did he want?"

AnnElyse looked away, anger and pain evident in her features. "He was just…"

"Just…?"

She tossed her head in agitation. "He was looking for something."

"What?"

AnnElyse stood. She barely reached his chin, but she was angry. "It's none of your business."

Cold fury rose up in his chest. "You will tell me."

"What's happening here?" Marli pulled Zachary's arm and he took a step away. She looked between the two. "AnnElyse?"

"He's disoriented," AnnElyse said. "He's going mad, just like I told you."

"I am neither disoriented nor mad," he responded coolly. "What did Mickey want from you?"

She glared at him. "Plans."

"Plans?"

"Instructions, from my grandfather. The page was upside-down under the glass."

"_...You've found my maps."_

"_I see Sacoridia and Rhovanny... What is this third one…?"_

"Instructions for what?"

AnnElyse looked away again.

"The device," Marli said. "Mickey attacked Dagon because he found my family's machine. He said that even if Dagon wouldn't tell him how it worked, he had found information about it."

Looking suddenly very tired, AnnElyse lowered herself back into the chair. "My family lives on the other side of the island. A man that worked for my grandfather was short on funds, so he sold some family heirlooms to my grandfather. They were left over from the Long War." She stared at Zachary's boots. Zachary peered into her face.

"There's more."

AnnElyse met his gaze. "The machine was dead until you came." At his surprised expression, she laughed. "The same day that you arrived, it suddenly lit up and began humming. Mickey became obsessed."

"How did he find it in the first place?" Marli asked. "I hid it deeply in the caves."

AnnElyse's face flamed and she looked everywhere but at them. "I don't know. He must have been exploring."

"_I can't imagine what he would be doing so far back in the caves…Perhaps he was hiding a body…"_

"Perhaps he was hiding a body," Zachary mused.

The tears in AnnElyse's eyes finally spilled. Marli gaped. "AnnElyse?"

Zachary breathed deeply. "The Riders."

She was on her feet again, pacing, waving her hands in agitation. "Mickey was jealous. Even after Fedir's father's crime, I still—" She glanced at Marli, "—I still loved him. Mickey didn't understand it. He was drinking again and he was—beating me, outside."

"…_All Mama says about _him _is that I need to find a man that will treat me better than he treated her."_

"The Rider—the boy—"

"Shenden Trembal," Marli murmured.

"Yes. He saw it and tried to protect me. Mickey—" Her voice caught in her throat. "Mickey had a knife."

"_Up there – it's dead. It's all rotted and dead and there's a knife in its neck."_

"I've never—seen anything so…" She paused and turned away. Marli had sat down, head in her hands. Zachary was feeling sick. "He took the body and hid it up in the caves. Then the second Rider came, the girl, and he took the body out again and—put it in your stable."

"_I think I'd notice a body rotting in my hayloft…Someone had to have planted it there, to frame us…"_

Marli's head was shaking slowly.

"He wanted to ruin you and Fedir. The girl went to Rena's inn before leaving. I couldn't—I couldn't let her report to the king. I followed her. I was just going to talk to her, beg her to keep it secret. I tried to explain that it wasn't Fedir who had done it. But she was so…so angry, so upset." AnnElyse dragged a hand through her hair. Her voice became almost incomprehensible as sobs bubbled up in her throat. "We were outside. She walked away from me. I was—I was just trying to help. I grabbed her. She tripped, fell, and her head—" She took a few scratchy breaths. "—There was a rock—" She collapsed into heaving sobs. "I was just trying to help."

"_I loved him. I would have done anything for him."_

"_Would you kill for him?"_

Marli covered her face. "Oh, gods…"

Zachary leaned against the empty fireplace. "What happened next?" he prompted gently.

AnnElyse laughed harshly through her tears. "I didn't know what to do. I went to Mickey. He k—he killed her horse and buried it in the trees behind my house. He took her body and went into the caves, deeper than he had gone before because the village children were playing there. That's when he found the thing."

"So he came to your house to get the instructions."

"Yes. I was afraid of the machine. I didn't know what it was supposed to do, but I didn't like what it was doing to him. I told him I didn't have them. He knew I was lying and he went on a rampage through my house. He threw lanterns to the floor, saying that if I didn't tell him, he would make sure the children never made it out of the fire. We…fought, even as the fire spread. I finally told him where the paper was and he was going to leave, but I think he saw you." She looked at Zachary. "He turned and ran up the stairs."

"_I didn't see a man."_

"…_He was angry… He yelled… Karigan yelled back… She probably finished him off…"_

"Why didn't you tell us?" Zachary murmured.

"I was going to, but then Karigan…she never made it out. And I knew…" She was avoiding his gaze again.

"You knew what?"

"_What's a gladstone? ...The fire man wanted a gladstone, but I don't know what that is."_

Zachary pressed a hand to his forehead. "G'ladheon. That's the name of the man that sold the instructions to your grandfather."

"…_I doubt your name means much to him…"_

AnnElyse nodded. "He thought that she would know how it worked."

Zachary stared into the empty fireplace. "She's alive," he mumbled. "He has her." He suddenly looked up, fixing AnnElyse with a furious glare. "You knew. You knew this entire time. You knew she was alive."

AnnElyse stood and backed away. "I don't. They couldn't have made it out of the fire."

"But you knew he was there. You knew he wanted her."

She raised her chin. "Don't come near me."

Marli reached for Zachary's hand, but he only leveled AnnElyse with a cool glare before turning to Marli. "Where are the caves?"

"Outside of the village, in the cliffs."

He dropped to his knees before her and took up her hands. "He must have her there. Take me to them, please."

"Zachary, we stayed with the house until the fire died. No one came out after you and Emmi." He turned a resolute stare on her. Marli met his eyes firmly. "You aren't well," she said. "Not only physically, but emotionally—"

"Marli, let me do this. If I don't find her, then—" He inhaled. "Then I'll leave. Please, please don't destroy my hope."

She gazed into his features, where new lines creased his eyes. With a sigh, she threw her hands into the air. "Fine, fine. If you insist." He beamed at her and dashed back to his room. Marli turned her gaze on AnnElyse, who had curled up on her chair. "You will be dealt with later."

A short time later, he and Marli stood on the beach staring at a cliff wall. A cave yawned at them, water trapped inside flickering across its limestone walls. Night Hawk shifted uneasily. Marli passed the king a lantern and a small bag. "There's an extra jar of oil in there," she explained. "Please don't run out. There's also charcoal—use it to mark your way so you don't become lost."

"You don't remember where it is?"

"If you think you've gone far back enough, go farther. I didn't want anyone to find it." She huffed. "A fat lot of good that did."

He smiled at her. "Thank you, Marli."

She returned it. "Just make sure you come back out, with or without her. We don't need another death in this town."

He nodded and turned to the cave. Silvery sunlight lit up a small portion of the entrance. Before stepping inside, he glanced over his shoulder. Behind Marli and Night Hawk, a gray gelding stood. Even across the distance, Zachary could feel its gaze. _I'll solve this, _he promised. The horse tossed its head and Zachary entered the cave.

…

The bone snapped in her hands. Karigan thrust the pieces away with a snarl and pulled her brooch off, using it to dig into the crevice she had found. The gold bent and she felt a jolt of regret before shoving it into her pocket. She stuck in her fingers and only managed a few weak scrapes until her hands dropped in exhaustion and pain. She plopped onto the hard floor and leaned her head against the wall. Blood from her fingertips and wrists dribbled down her skin.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Whether she was running out of air in this prison or she was panicking, she didn't know. She began to crawl around the perimeter. It was getting smaller. No, that was impossible. But it was. It was closing down around her. She turned her head to the right. No…that was left. Wasn't it? Or was she looking up?

Something moved—over there. She flung herself against the wall, chest heaving with half-filled breaths. There was something else in here with her. It brushed her legs sometimes, tickled her arm. She glared into the impenetrable darkness, daring it to come near her. She couldn't run, or even walk—her feet were numb. Her hands were almost as useless. Huddling against the stone, she tried returning to her dream, back into the bed. Zachary was there, waiting for her. He held out his arms, but she couldn't feel his warmth. His speech was mumbled and unintelligible. She tried to move, to touch him, but her limbs were too heavy. They were frozen.

Her fantasies were mixing with reality. Sometimes he came and rescued her, but then he wasn't there. The blackness invaded her memories, darkened everything to night. The thing was near, she could feel it. She lunged to the side and banged her head against rock. Tears welled up in her eyes at the pain and she reached out her senseless hands. She found the rock wall, and feeling around it, she discovered an opening hidden behind a jutting stone. She knelt there for a moment, marveling. She'd crawled around these walls hundreds of times—how had she missed it? She felt around more. It was small, but large enough to squeeze through. A breathless, slightly hysterical laugh escaped her. From the opposite direction, she wouldn't have found it. The rock covered it. Had she been crawling in the wrong direction this entire time? Passing escape again and again?

She chortled as she maneuvered into the opening. She scooted through and popped out onto more wet, stone floor. But it was different floor. She laughed again. She'd done it. She'd escaped. Mostly. She used her elbows to drag herself forward. She'd find the way out. Her blood may be freezing, her body bruised and broken, but by the gods, she'd find the way out.

It wasn't until sometime later that she jolted and realized that she had stopped moving. Somehow the floor had become comfortable. _You need to keep going, _she told herself. But if she rested, then she would have more strength to move. Her head drooped, then jerked back up again. She'd find the way out, yes. She would. _Zachary_… She would find him again. She would find him and—and—she didn't know what she would do, but she'd do it. She'd tell him she loved him. She would. She'd find that golden room again.

…

The caves were indeed a maze; he understood why Mornhavon's troops weren't able to find the villagers here. He walked and climbed and slid. Some of the passages were large enough for him to stand, others he barely squeezed through. He felt he was making progress until he came across one of his earlier marks and he realized that somehow he had gone in a circle. Setting his jaw, he set out again. He was going to find her, if it cost him his life.

He crawled over a lump in the ground and slipped down the other side. He crashed onto the floor, banging his elbow hard against the stone. He clamped his teeth over his lip to keep from crying out, then carefully lifted his arm. Blood seeped through his sleeve. He groaned as he pulled himself up. Taking up his lantern, he limped forward only a few steps before he reached a dead end.

Another one. He slid to the ground. All that precious time, wasted. He looked into the flickering flame of his lantern. If he didn't find her…. No. He wouldn't consider that. He would find her. He would search until he died.

After another few moments' rest, he hauled himself up and clambered back the way he came. His blistered feet ached, his elbow throbbed, as well as a thousand other scrapes and bruises. A small corridor branched off and he stood before it uncertainly. Using belated logic, he determined that it would be a squeeze for him alone, and there was no way Mickey could have carried Karigan through. With a sigh, he continued on down the tunnel, passing other unpromising branches with hope fast deteriorating. What was that he had said? He would search until he died?

His laughter came out sounding harsh. No, that wasn't true, in spite of all its poetic allure. He would search until his oil ran out. How long had he been in here now? The water had seeped into his clothes, which hung heavily on his shivering body; the cold curled around his bones and numbed his burns. He paused to catch his breath, staring defiantly into the fading lamplight. He only had a small amount of oil left. As he looked into the flickering flame, he felt the last of his hope pitter out. He had to return to Sacor City and set things right, with or without her. Even though all those rights would be wrong, he shuddered at the knowledge that despite his feelings, his wants, his needs, he would have to leave.

He finally reached a familiar room where multiple corridors branched out. It was here he refilled his oil for the last time. He peered at the empty jar, then tossed it aside. There were three paths he hadn't tried yet, in this section of the caves at least. One shot off somewhere behind him, and the other two reached farther back into the island. He considered them, then laughed. It didn't really matter, did it, which one he chose. They both held the same amount of promise. He took a step forward, his foot landed on a loose rock, and he slipped again, slamming his hip against the stone floor. He rolled over, groaning, stars reeling in his vision, wondering absently if Marli could heal broken bones. Shaking his head to clear it, he grabbed the rock and hurled it across the chamber, then placed his hands to push himself up. His palm moved unexpectedly as something liquid oozed beneath it. He pulled his lantern closer. Blood. A long smear of blood. His? He snatched up his lantern and clambered to his feet. No, it couldn't be. There was a long trail of the sticky stuff, leading into one of the unexplored corridors. Karigan's? Had Mickey dragged her through here?

Infused with both excitement and anger, he moved as quickly as the terrain allowed, gaining a few more significant bruises as he did so. The blood guided him through the labyrinth, back and back and back. Zachary tripped, banged his knees on the ground, shook his head, and got back up. She was close, he could feel it. She was close, just—

He stopped. Just behind solid rock. The blood seemed to just disappear into the wall. He stared at it with increasing dismay. Something had to be wrong. No…Mickey had tricked him. He had probably put the blood there purposely to lead him astray. With a feral snarl, Zachary punched the wall until his knuckles bled. Damn him. _Damn _him! When his hand was numb, he gave the wall one mighty kick, then slipped on water and dropped onto the floor. He hung his head in defeat. There was nothing left to do. His oil was running low—it would be just enough to get him out. He could come back, he considered. Come back and look more.

He closed his eyes. That would be impossible. He had been missing for too long: he needed to return to Sacor City. Tomorrow morning, dawn, he would leave. Leave this place forever. The wall jutted out to his left and he used the outcropping to pull himself up. Once on his feet, however, he found he couldn't find the will to move. His fingertips dug into the rock as his broad shoulders began to shake. _Karigan_…. Tears splashed across his hands. _My Karigan_…. His knees gave out and he fell, grasping the stone as if it were his last connection to life. He sobbed against it and found himself grieving for more than just the loss of his love. His hands curled into fists and he pounded the unfeeling rock. How cruel the gods were—how treacherous, to give him this taste of paradise and then rip it away from him. What sort of sick game did they play?

He slid back down to his previous seat, helpless and limp. He leaned against the outcrop—no, he fell right past it onto the floor. Cold stone bumped his nose and the back of his head. Pulling himself up, he snatched up his lantern and stared in wonder at the previously hidden opening between the outcrop and the wall. It was as though the wall had grown out and twisted to the right to conceal another cave entrance. Laughing in disbelief, Zachary dragged his arm across his teary eyes and crawled through the tight space—large enough, he supposed, for Mickey to squeeze through, dragging Karigan behind him—and into a small, dank room.

His lamplight fell across human bones. He stood, paralyzed, staring down at them in utter panic. Then he realized that there was no way they were Karigan's and his captured breath came out in a rush. Holding his lantern higher, he could easily see the entire pit. Apart from the bones, it was empty.

His teeth ground together. Another failure. But—no, she had to have been here. There were bloody smears all around the room, as though someone injured had crawled along the perimeter multiple times. But if Mickey had dragged her here, then where did she go?

Toying with a hopeful thought, he squeezed into the short passage and squinted in the dim lamplight. Handprints, smudged but still recognizable, littered the floor and sides. He raised his hand and covered one of the marks. It was small, thin—a woman's hand.

"Karigan…" he whispered. He struggled the rest of the way out. The blood he had followed to get here…. It wasn't Mickey dragging Karigan in, it was Karigan trying to crawl back out. Swearing and cursing himself for a fool, he raced back the way he came, praying with all his might that he wasn't too late.

…

His fingers trailed up and down her arm as his dark gaze mesmerized her. "Why did you run?" he asked softly, touching her lips with his other hand.

"I couldn't stay," she responded. "You know that…"

…Cold. She was too cold. There was too much pain. She had come so far…

"…I can talk to them," he protested. "I can make them understand."

"Not even you can do that."

His frown puckered his brow adorably. "So you would deny every chance for happiness?"

She reached up and smoothed his forehead. "Only the fleeting ones. They won't do anyone any good…."

…She hooked the ropes binding her wrists on a stone and used it to pull herself just a little bit farther before collapsing back down. If only that stupid, fat man hadn't used that rock…

…He sighed and took her waist in his hands, pulling her closer to him. "But you're going somewhere I can't follow," he whispered into her ear.

She was feeling cold. "I'm not going anywhere," she answered. "Hold onto me."

He looked sad as his hands released her.

"No, hold on. Please." So cold. She couldn't move anymore. The bed grew stony beneath her. Darkness swept through the glow. He disappeared into the black fog. _No…please…_. No light, no feeling. Cold stone pressed down upon her on all sides. She couldn't feel her body anymore. A whimper escaped her throat. It was just a little bit farther, she knew. Just a little more and she would be out…

"Karigan!"

The name stirred faintly in her mind.

"Karigan? Karigan, Karigan!"

She was right here. No need to yell.

"Oh gods, Karigan!"

Hands grasping at her. They lifted her from the cold stone and clutched her against warmth.

"Karigan, speak to me. Please, my love, please, please…"

Breath on her face, hands on her head. Zachary? Could it really be…? She tried to find his face, but her bound hands were trapped against his stomach. His real stomach. He was real.

She pried her eyes open. He found her. She gaped at him through the dim lamplight. He found her. He found her. He laughed breathlessly as he planted kisses all over her face. She had to close her eyes again.

"You found me," she croaked, wishing she could do something more than just hang there. "Zachary…Zachary, you found me." He kissed her mouth senselessly, bundling her up into his arms. He was laughing and it shook her whole body.

"You're alive," he whispered against her ear. "You're alive." He was still laughing as he strove to crush her in his hold. She felt his tears mixing with hers, her skin was raw where his bristly beard scraped it. She tugged at her hands and he pulled them out for her. He fought clumsily to loosen the ropes as she reached to grasp his face.

"You found me," she breathed. The terror of the past hours spilled over her and she began to cry stupidly. "You're really here," she croaked. "Zachary, you're really here." He abandoned her wrists in favor of more kisses and more laughter and more tears. He was here, holding her, talking to her. She was bleeding all over him. She should be hurting, she was hurting. He told her he loved her, repeated it again and again, and she kept crying like an idiot, her arms crushed uselessly between them.

"I knew it." His hands were all tangled up in her hair. "I knew you were alive." He kissed her again. She wished she could respond. She buried her face in his neck.

"I don't want to be here anymore," she told him.

"Karigan?"

She settled into his warmth. _Take me away from here. _

"Karigan? Karigan! Don't, no, don't."

_Don't shout...I'm right here…_

"Stay with me, Karigan, please."

Such wonderful warmth. Just like her dreams. Better than her dreams. He was moving, though. Her legs banged against cold rock.

"Karigan, hold on. Hold on…"

…

The door crashed open. Marli jumped and her tea went flying. The door banged against the wall as Zachary stumbled into the room, clutching Karigan like a doll in his arms. Marli stood, shocked. Karigan was lifeless, masked in dirt and blood, head lolling and limbs dangling limply. On the other side of the room, AnnElyse rose to her feet, just as shocked.

"Marli," Zachary grated, desperation blazing in his voice and eyes. Blood soaked his clothing. "Help her."

Marli ushered him to a room and rushed to fetch her supplies. After placing Karigan on the bed, Zachary retrieved a knife from the kitchen and used it to cut the ropes that bound her wrists together. He had to peel the cords from her flesh, tearing skin in the process, and he forced down a bout of nausea and rage. His hands shook so, he could barely hold the knife and it clattered as he set it on the table. Kneeling beside the bed, he cupped her face gingerly. "Karigan?" he whispered, a tremor in his voice. "Karigan, can you hear me?" She made no reaction, her face alarmingly pale beneath the grime. His teeth snatched at his lip and he cracked a hoarse, "Karigan, please."

Marli reappeared with AnnElyse in tow. "Zachary, if you'd please…" Marli gestured to the door. Zachary stared at her, then took Karigan's hand in a powerful grip and shook his head wordlessly. Marli sighed. "I didn't think so." Zachary was, however, ushered out of the way as the two women set to work. The king hovered around the bed, at once anxious, furious, and brimming with such bubbling hope he couldn't hold himself still.

Injuries appeared as the filth was removed. Most of them seemed superficial, until Karigan's shirt was taken away. He couldn't distinguish the wound itself, but enough blood glistened on her stomach to indicate its severity. He gripped the bedpost and it was a wonder the wood didn't splinter in his hand.

"You will find him," Marli said without looking up.

"Most assuredly."

"And you will punish him."

"Violently."

A smile crept onto Marli's mouth and she and the quiet AnnElyse finished their tasks in silence. Skin was cleaned, Marli's mysterious ointment was applied, the wound was stitched, hands and feet were carefully warmed, and a clean blanket was wrapped around the unmoving girl.

Zachary craned his neck to look over Karigan's swaddled body. "She's—?"

"Alive, barely. It should heal soon enough." Marli wiped her hands over her dress. "I'll come back in a little while to check on her." She turned on Zachary and looked him up and down. "Now, _you_ I will not allow near her—" She overrode his fierce protests, "—_until _you have cleaned up. As much as she needs that blood, it's no use to her now." She waved her hands at him. "Go, wash up. There's a bath down the hall that shouldn't be too cold yet. I'll lend you some of my husband's clothing."

He left reluctantly. After his quick bath, Marli rewrapped the burns that still weren't fully healed, _tsked _at his new scrapes and bruises, and sent him back to Karigan's room wearing Fedir's oversized clothing. He dragged a chair up to the bedside and gently took Karigan's hand in his own. Her fingertips and nails were ragged and torn and he kissed them tenderly, watching her face for any sign of consciousness. None came and he scooted his chair closer.

Hours passed as he stayed by her side, refusing sleep. The news began spreading and one-by-one, villagers gathered at the house to see if tales of her survival were true. Mickey's infamy spread also and a search began for him, but he seemed to have disappeared entirely. Fedir and Ainsley came occasionally to report the progress of the search, but despite his loathing for the blacksmith, Zachary didn't much care to hear if he had been found or not. He managed to keep himself in the chair, but when she finally woke up, she was panicked and screaming and he barely kept himself from climbing into the bed to hold her. He wasn't sure if such intimacy would be welcome and so, once she fell back asleep, he contented himself with resting his head on her lap.

She faded in and out of consciousness. She would jerk, her eyes would open and search the room wildly until she found his face. Then she would mutter and sigh herself back into sleep. Despite his uncomfortable position, his rest that night was dreamless and calm. He awoke only when her anxiety disturbed him, but he could always calm her. He had to battle his soaring delight each time she responded to his voice, keep himself from kissing her each time his name passed over her lips. Her free hand had found a permanent place in his hair and occasionally, he would lean away just to watch it search for him. He let himself hope that she knew it was him, that she wasn't delirious and reaching for whoever was there. He also hoped he wasn't breaking any rules. He laughed bitterly. Not breaking rules? He took up her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm, then closed his eyes. Hang the rules.

Morning sunlight awoke him the next day. He raised his head and blinked groggily at the window. He began massaging his muscles, then stopped when he looked at Karigan. She was awake, gazing at him with bright, but weary eyes. "Is this a dream?" she murmured.

He dropped his hand to touch her face. "No."

She closed her hand over his. "I made it out?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. You made it out."

She took his face in her hands and tugged until he leaned over her. Her eyes searched his face. "You're real," she murmured. She combed her fingers through his hair, her brow puckering. "You cut your hair." Her fingertips trailed along his jaw. "And what happened to your beard?"

"It was time for a change," he responded lightly. She blinked tiredly at him.

"Oh." She rubbed her fingers against his scruff and giggled softly. "I like it." Then her hands fell and her eyelids drooped.

He traced her features and whispered, "Go back to sleep."

"You'll stay here?" she murmured.

"Nothing could make me leave."

She smiled faintly. "Thank you." Her eyes fluttered and shut. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and settled back into his chair. Returning his head to her lap, he vowed, "I will never leave you again."


	23. Chapter 23

**Yes, I was listening to cheesy love songs while writing this. You're welcome.**

…

There was purple in that one. Zachary picked it up and held it close to his face as he assessed its value. It shimmered, yes, but proved to be more silver than purple. His lips twisted as he considered, then he held it down for his small companion to look.

"Oooh! That one is so very pretty!" Emmi cried, clasping her hands in childish delight. His decision made, Zachary added it to his carefully selected stash of seashells and continued down the stretch of beach. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the sand. He could hear the surge of the tide and guided Emmi up to higher ground. "I haven't seen anything more beautiful," she proclaimed, gripping his arm as she peered at the shells. Each of them had been meticulously assessed and considered, and only a chosen few had made it into the collection. "They're better'n a bucket of flowers."

"Do you think so?" Zachary looked down at them doubtfully. A few of them were cracked, but he had weighed their loveliness above that.

"I do. I think Karigan will like them a lot."

He sighed. "I hope so." He glanced at the horizon. "It's late. I need to get you back home before your mother misses you."

"And you need to give your shells to Karigan before she goes to bed." Emmi smiled. "She'll be so excited to see you."

A line appeared between Zachary's eyebrows. "I hope so," he repeated. He closed his hand over the shells and looked back over the ocean. He had slipped out before Karigan was fully awake, coward that he was. The last time they had truly spoken was that night, and they had parted so bitterly. Then there was the fire, the cave…. She had been half-dead when he'd found her, and delirious afterward. He didn't know how she would react to him now. How he wished….

"…keep squeezing like that and you'll cut yourself."

Zachary shook himself out of his reverie and loosened his grip on the sharp shells. Emmi peered up at him. "I tried talking to you but your face just got drearier and drearier. Are we gonna go or not?"

"Yes, of course." He took Emmi's hand and together they trekked back along the beach toward Marli's home. Whatever Karigan's reaction, he would remain cool and in command. No use stuttering about like a fool. He blinked with a sigh. Gods, he was a fool. A fool in love, even more so now than before. He no longer had any control over his fate—it all rested in her hands. He glanced down at the shells, a worried frown tugging at his lips. _Please Karigan_, he thought. _Please._

…

Blankets bundled her up tightly and her head rested in a heap of pillows and her body, although stiff and sore, nestled comfortably in an incredibly soft mattress. The cold shadows in her mind fizzled beneath encroaching light and she uttered a soft moan, flinching away from the brightness. _Him_. She reached out her hand. Where was he? He was always there—where did he go? Where—

Her hand was caught and squeezed in a warm grip. When she opened her eyes, however, it was a woman's face smiling down at her.

"You're finally awake."

Karigan threw a hand to her forehead to push her hair out of her face. "Marli…" she mumbled. She looked about the room in some confusion. Someone—Rena stood in the corner, a happy smile on her pleasant face.

"You finally come back to us!"

"How long…?" Karigan rubbed her eyes.

"You've been asleep about a day. How do you feel?" Marli inquired gently, settling into the chair. _His_ _chair_.

"Um…" Karigan shook her head. "Fine." She pulled her hand away and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Pain flamed up in her stomach and she winced.

"Yes, it will still hurt. I was able to remove the stitches earlier today." Marli smiled. "You're a fast healer." She winked.

Confused, Karigan murmured, "What? Where…?"

"You're in my home."

Karigan peered at her groggily. That wasn't what she asked. "Thank you." With a weak smile, she added, "I guess we'll use all your houses before we're gone."

Marli chuckled. "And burn down the ones you don't. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I think, a little." Karigan looked around the room, craning her neck to see beyond the bed. Rena watched her curiously.

"You lose something?"

Marli, who had stood, paused in the doorway.

Karigan sat back in the pillows. "I'm not sure. Is something missing?"

The two women exchanged a secret smile and Rena stepped to the foot of the bed, where she bent to pick something off the floor. Still smiling, she laid a Green Rider coat onto the blanket. Karigan's heart leaped inexplicably into her throat. The coat was tattered and singed, with holes burnt right through it, but it was too large to be hers. She stared at it.

"The man can't even keep one room tidy," Rena murmured. She patted the coat. "We go get food."

They left Karigan, who was still staring at the coat. Long moments passed, then she finally reached for it. She hesitated when her fingers touched the fabric, but with a breath, she clasped the collar and dragged it over the blanket. The thing was a disgrace, really. It should have been disposed of long ago. Holding it up to her face, she was swathed in the strong scent of smoke. She buried her nose into the inside lining and inhaled deeply. There it was. She breathed again. Clean, heady, distinctly masculine. She had smelled it once before, a long time ago in a hayloft. Along with his voice, this smell had suffused her dreams. It was how she had known he was real.

She didn't know how long she sat there, looking down at the shabby thing, but Marli eventually returned with a plate of bread and fruit. She placed it on the table and raised Karigan's chin so she could look in her eyes.

"You look better," she said, pleased. "Now, eat."

"Marli," Karigan murmured, touching the hem of the coat gingerly. "What happened?"

Marli sat on the edge of the bed. "What do you remember?"

Karigan tossed her head. "The cave. The cold. I remember crawling out."

"Do you remember Zachary? He's the one that found you."

"I thought—that I had—" Faint memories returned to her. Crawling through the cave, collapsing, his voice.

"You'd crawled down the wrong corridor. He found you there and carried you all the way back here. You'll be glad to know that we all thought you were dead, except for him. He's as stubborn as a mule."

"That's what he told me," Karigan said softly, still brushing the frayed hem with her fingertips. "The blacksmith said that he would think I was dead and that he would leave me here."

Marli pursed her lips. "At first, maybe. I've never seen a man so…." She shook her head. "You could stand and watch the life leak out of him. We did try to get him to leave, thank the gods he didn't. He was determined to find you, even if it killed him."

Karigan absently lifted the coat back up to her nose. "Oh."

Marli's lips closed over a grin. "Rena brought your things over. Your boots are right here. They're a bit singed, but I'm sure they've seen worse."

"Thank you," Karigan mumbled, her eyes distant as she recommenced stroking the edge of the coat.

"Your horse is fine, as well, and itching to see you, I'm sure."

Karigan raised her head and a smile ghosted across her lips. "Condor," she said fondly. "I should go visit him." She glanced at Marli. "If that's all right."

One of Marli's eyebrows rose. "You're asking me? If I say no, would you stay here?"

Karigan blinked at her, then laughed. The sound brought a smile to the mender's mouth. "No, I suppose I wouldn't." She pushed back the blankets and stood, pulling on the coat despite the evening's warmth. Someone had put her back in that ridiculous nightgown and she shook her head at it as she stuffed her feet into her boots. "So…" she said, stomping, "So where's—err, where did Zachary go?"

Marli's lips twitched. "He went down to the beach with Emmi. Something about seashells. It's the first time he's left your side since he found you."

"Oh, that's—that's neat." Karigan stood and plucked an apple from the tray. "For Condor," she explained.

"You're not hungry?"

"No…" Karigan glanced at the plate. "No, no I'm not really. I'll—just—" She gestured to the door then walked through it with a vague wave to Marli. Rena and AnnElyse were in the main room. The latter gave her a polite nod, but Rena rushed to envelop Karigan in a meaty hug.

"So happy you're alive," she said.

"Yeah—" Karigan gasped in the tight grip. "Yeah, me too. Thanks." She stumbled out the door when she was finally released and made her way toward the stable. Night Hawk blinked at her, but Condor began prancing and kicking in his stall. Karigan grinned when she reached him. "Hey, you," she greeted, rubbing his nose. He ignored her caresses and stretched toward the apple. Karigan rolled her eyes. "I see how it is. I did almost die, but I'm fine now. Thanks for worrying." A great _whuff _blew her hair into her face and she chuckled and gave him the apple, which he accepted eagerly.

Lingering at the stall, Karigan raised the coat collar to her nose and closed her eyes as she inhaled. There was a time, she thought, when she had walls and arguments and self-control. She inhaled again and leaned her face against Condor's. Now she felt groundless and vulnerable, like she had cracked open and couldn't put herself back together again. The worst part, though—the most perilous part, really—was the knowledge that after all this, after everything, she didn't care anymore. She just didn't care.

"Karigan, dear."

Karigan turned. Rena, Marli, and AnnElyse all stood in the doorway.

"The sun is going down, but if you'd like to join us, we're going to take a short walk."

"To the beach," Rena added. Karigan's heart fluttered and she smiled.

"I'd like that."

Rena beamed and Marli chuckled. "I thought you would." Karigan's unorthodox outfit was noted, commented on, and soon forgotten as the foursome set out. Light conversation passed between them, but Karigan kept silent, her eyes and ears straining for something just beyond the next tree, or behind that rock. Rena and Marli shared many a grinning glance, and AnnElyse's frown, which had recently become a permanent fixture on her face, lightened imperceptibly.

Silence hung over them as they passed the remains of AnnElyse's house, but soon the ruins disappeared behind the trees and the group stood at the edge of the beach. Karigan hurried out onto the sand, apparently having forgotten all about her companions, and her wide gaze swooped across the scene. She stood on her toes and craned her neck, and a slight pout began pulling at her bottom lip. With a sigh, she turned back to the other women.

"Ooh, look! There's Karigan!"

Karigan whirled around. Out of the shadows of the trees two figures walked. One, a small, bouncing girl, and the other, a tall, much more subdued man. Catching sight of Karigan, Zachary's steps faltered. He quickly regained his composure, however, and threw his chin into the air. Karigan merely stood there, and as she gazed at him she couldn't have known how her heart was in her eyes. The king slowed, entranced by what he saw, finding it even sweeter than he could have ever imagined. He pushed the shells into Emmi's surprised hands and walked forward as one in a trance. Karigan seemed equally captivated, rooted in place as his walk turned into a jog, then a run. Blind to all but his love, Zachary succeeded in tripping over every tidal pool and hillock in his path before coming to an abrupt halt before her.

They stood an arms-length away, staring; Karigan in her nightgown, boots, and tattered coat, Zachary all seawater and sand.

"Hello," Karigan said.

"Hello," Zachary responded. He swallowed. "You're awake."

"I am." Karigan gripped the hem of her coat with white hands. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He paused. "For what?"

"You found me."

"I did."

The onlookers stared in suspense, breaths held; Emmi watched this incomprehensible scene with blossoming delight, sensing something powerful was taking place.

Karigan looked somewhere off to her right. "Thank you for staying with me while I was, err—"

"Recovering. I wouldn't have left. I—" He glanced back vaguely to where Emmi stood. "I left now to find seashells for you. I thought they'd cheer you up."

Karigan nodded, feeling all sorts of emotions bubble up in her throat. "Thank you," she manage to croak through them. "They're beautiful."

"You're welcome. You, ah, haven't seen them yet."

She laughed through oncoming tears. "I know they'd be beautiful, because—because anything you'd choose for me would be—perfect."

Hope lighting up his features, he replied, "You deserve nothing less."

She dragged her arm across her nose in a distinctly unladylike gesture and nodded again. "Thank you."

"Karigan—"

"You're all I thought of," she interrupted, followed by a weak sob. He stared. "You're—you're the only thing that—kept me from…" She took a rough intake of breath, looking everywhere but at him, cursing the silly tears that blurred her eyes. When did she become such a wateringpot? "I thought—he told me that you wouldn't look for me, that you would leave me…" She heaved a sob. "That I would never—never see you again. He said I'd never—" She looked at him desperately. "He said—and I couldn't bear—"

Zachary finally breached the space between them by reaching one hand to her face. "I would never leave you," he whispered with all the passion he was capable of. "I love you."

She took that hand in hers and touched his fingers gently, almost reverently. Sniffing, she croaked, "I know." Her fingertips drifted across his skin and he watched, eyes wide and heartbeat wildly irregular as she pressed her lips to his knuckles. The kiss lingered until finally, with the last of her courage, Karigan whispered, "I love you, too."

With a single step, he closed the distance between them, pulling his hand from her grip to catch her head in a trembling hold. She clasped his wrists and breathed him in as their lips brushed and hovered. No longer a king, and nothing more than a fool in love, Zachary could no more have stopped himself from kissing her than he could have stopped the earth from turning. Karigan caught his questing mouth with hers and blinding exhilaration infused her bones, her muscles, her heart. He crushed her against him with a low growl and she was no less demanding as she endeavored to claim him as hers, once and for all. Hands caressed and held and touched, kisses strove through smiles and whispers, radiant glances stole between glowing eyes. The small group of sighing females carried a dazzled five-year-old back home, where they revolted their young sons with a recounting of events. A small supper was prepared and left out, but it was universally doubted that any of the food would be touched come morning.

Breathless and giddy, Karigan pulled away only to be swept up and whirled around. She tried to smother a cry of pain when her stomach was wrenched, but Zachary heard and clumsily put a stop to their spin, stumbling over one thing or another and sending them both crashing into the sand. Long moments passed as they gasped for breath, days of bruises and scrapes washing over them. Recovering and laughing hoarsely, Zachary rolled and pushed himself up to lean over her. Karigan grinned despite her pain and reached for him, an unspoken request he was more than willing to fulfill.

After a blissful interlude, Karigan nestled in the circle of his arm and watched their intertwined fingers balanced on his stomach. By this time, only a faint red haze blushed on the horizon. Zachary stared at the stars, then pulled his hand away and pointed to the sky. He began naming constellations, most of which she had never heard. With a smile, she pushed his hand away and pointed at the one thing she did know.

"The moon," she said proudly. His low chuckle rumbled through her chest and she snuggled closer, finding his hand once again. His thumb stroked hers and he gave a great sigh.

"Karigan…" he whispered. She smiled and buried her nose into his shirt and breathed in deeply, vowing to remember him forever. He watched her curiously, but said nothing until she asked, "How did you find me?"

His fingers tightened around hers. "I followed the trail of your blood." She said nothing, and so he proceeded to relate all that AnnElyse had told him, about her family, Karigan's family, the fire, the two Riders. Karigan remained silent throughout, concentrating on their fingers. Once he finished, a silence hung between them.

Karigan took a breath, paused, then said, "Her bones were in there with me."

Zachary's arm tightened around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's not your fault."

"I should have found you sooner, figured things out earlier, instead of wallowing like I did in self-pity."

Karigan smiled. "Self-pity? No grief for me?"

He started. "That's not—what I meant was—"

She laughed and placed a hand on his chest. "I know what you meant." Silence fell once more over them, then Karigan pushed herself up and insisted, "Kiss me again."

He obeyed enthusiastically. There was relative silence, if not inactivity, on the beach, until Karigan suddenly gasped out, "Mickey!"

The king frowned. "Zachary," he corrected, only half-joking. He tugged gently on her hair, but it was yanked away as she sat up.

"Oh gods," she cursed. "Mickey!"

Zachary leaned back on his elbows, admiring the glow of the moonlight on her skin. "He was never found. What—err—made you think of him?"

"He's gone to the castle! Blast and hell." Karigan scrambled to her feet and smacked the sand from her clothing. Zachary followed more slowly, watching her dubiously.

"To the castle?" His forehead creased in thought. "I suppose he could have left this morning, with the merchant ship."

"No, he went before, when he left me in the cave." She let out a growl of frustration and snatched up her coat from where it had been abandoned earlier. The king took her wrist and made her face him.

"It will take him weeks to get to Sacor City." A smile crept onto his lips and he curled a tendril of hair around his fingers. "It will take _us _weeks…"

Karigan's face flamed, but she shook her head briskly. "No, he's already there." She slipped and tripped toward the trees. Zachary hesitated, then jogged to catch up with her.

"Karigan, that's impossible."

She waved her hand curtly. "It was the machine. He used it to—to—I don't know what it did, exactly, but one second he was there, then the next he was gone."

Zachary grabbed her hand and turned her around once more. "Explain."

Karigan jerked her fingers through her hair. "He had the device thing and those instructions AnnElyse told you about. He became upset when I didn't know what it was, kicked me a bit, then saw the necklace—or the key, or whatever it was. The one you gave me in the fire. He stuck it in the machine, turned it a couple times, then just—vanished!" She found the path that led toward AnnElyse's house. "All this time, wasted!"

Zachary, who didn't feel like any of the time had been wasted, fell into step beside her. "How do you know he went to the castle?"

"I saw it as he was disappearing. It's—it's hard to explain. There was a flash and I saw a glimpse of the city and the castle, then everything went dark again."

Their steps quickened. "What would he be doing, going there?"

"I don't know. Maybe he knows you're the king and he wants your throne. Why would anyone go to the castle? All I know that he's an evil man and we have to stop him."

Zachary slowed to a stop. Karigan stared at him. "What are you doing? We don't have time—"

"If he's already there, then there isn't anything we can do. We'll be far too late if we go by conventional means."

"Then what do you suggest? That we just stay here and do nothing?"

"No…" He reached to stroke his beard, discovered it wasn't there anymore, and scratched the scruff on his jaw instead. "If we travel there by unconventional means…"

Karigan frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged at her. "Perhaps the same way you got us here?"

She inhaled. "You mean the white world."

"Yes. Is it possible?"

She began pacing. "I don't know. It's not something I can really call upon at will. It tends to just…happen."

"But when we were escaping the city, you were calling for someone. Can you not do the same now?"

Karigan furrowed her brow and shrugged. "I can try."

He smiled grimly and took her hand. Together they ran to the Spinter home. The house was dark and silent when they arrived. Wincing at the creaking front door, the pair crept through the shadowy rooms.

"They left food for us," Zachary whispered. Karigan glanced at the plates and her stomach rumbled. She stared at the food longingly, but time was of the essence. But she was so hungry.

Sensing her dismay, Zachary kissed the back of her head. "Eat," he whispered. "As much as I hate to see this adorable nightgown go—" He grinned down at it. "—I'll fetch your clothes."

"Thank you," she said as he hurried away. She bent over the food and inhaled most of it before he returned. He took a plate and turned away from her with a smile that made her blush, munching as she dressed hurriedly in the darkness. "Should we tell them we're going?" she hissed, buckling her belt.

"Perhaps a note…" They searched for paper, found some, but no quill or ink appeared despite their rummaging. Karigan tapped her foot until an idea came. She dipped her finger in the gravy pooled on a plate and wrote a very brief, 'Thanks. Goodbye. Will visit' across a few pages. Zachary smiled. "Clever."

"Right. We need to go."

They snuck out of the house and dashed across the yard to Fedir's rickety stable. Condor and Night Hawk watched curiously as tack was gathered, but they were quick to sense the humans' urgency and began shifting and snorting in their stalls. They quivered as they were readied and tried to run even before their riders had their seats. Restraining her big horse, Karigan led the way out of the small copse of trees. The village was to the right, AnnElyse's home and the ocean to the left. Straight ahead, however, fields stretched over soft hills.

Karigan looked at Zachary, but he was looking over his shoulder. "Something wrong?" she asked.

He paused before responding, "I may never see this island again." His gaze dropped, then raised again to meet hers. "We will never come back here together."

Karigan stared, very aware of his double meaning. Returning to Sacor City meant returning to the way things were. This island—this place—was theirs, only theirs. "What's going to happen?" she asked softly.

He gazed at her, long and intensely. She could see the emotions warring in his eyes. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I don't know what is coming." He guided Night Hawk closer. "But I will do—"

Karigan raised a hand and he stopped short, surprised. "Don't make promises you can't keep." Clearly affronted, Zachary opened his mouth to protest, but she kissed it before he could speak. Holding his face a breath away, she whispered, "Just promise that you'll remember."

Forcing his frown away, Zachary nodded. "I promise."

Karigan took up her reins and looked at the space ahead. "This might not even work," she reminded him.

He followed her gaze, his lips a thin, determined line. "It will."

"If it doesn't, just remember it was your stupid idea."

"My ideas are never stupid."

She glanced at him and they shared a secret smile. He held out a hand. "Shall we?"

In an instant, the horses were flying.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapters 21-22 (and I guess 23) have been revised to give Karigan more backbone.**

…

Mara awoke to heavy silence. She stirred and immediately regretted it, gritting her teeth against the resurgence of a thousand bruises. One hand pressed to her temple as though she could lessen the pounding in her head and she cracked an eye open. Dim firelight flicked across the archive shelves and the mess left by the Black Shields, who lay still against one wall. She found herself shivering as she lifted her head from her pillow—Fastion's leg, actually—and regretted once more using her coat for a purpose other than keeping herself warm.

The Weapon remained in slumber, his back against the wall, his chin on his chest. Mara stood and stepped over his legs to search for Dakrias. The old man was also asleep, seated and sprawled over the papers and books littering his desktop. He mumbled occasionally, his breath fogging up the spectacles that hung haphazardly across his face. He and Fastion had searched tirelessly with no success. Dakrias was the first to succumb to sleep and he appeared not to have moved since then. She and Fastion had lasted only a short time longer, studying the rubbings and scrolls for specks of information until the markings blurred together and she collapsed across his lap.

"We'll find nothing more here…" she remembered him saying through a yawn. "We should keep moving."

Mara peered into the hallway, igniting a small flame for light. Empty and silent. To keep moving meant returning to the danger patrolling the halls of the upper levels. As excellent a fighter as Fastion was, and as dangerous her fire could be, she wasn't sure how long the pair of them would last in this condition.

She heard shuffling from behind and turned to see Fastion rising to his feet. He steadied himself against the wall, pausing with short, shallow breaths before raising his gaze to meet hers. His eyes glistened with pain, but also defiance. She saw his jaw grind and felt a shadow drop over them. "What is it?" she asked. "Is it your head?"

"No." He began strapping on his gear. "Something is coming." With a passing glance at Dakrias, he joined Mara at the door.

"Is it an evil something?" she asked, not really wanting an answer.

Fastion smiled, but it failed to reassure her. "I don't know what it is. It's close, however, and it's strong." His smile disappeared as he looked into the hallway. If he could sense it and she couldn't, Mara thought, then it had to be something evil—something to do with that little device.

"What are you thinking?" she whispered, seeing more worry in his face than what came through his words. He stared into the darkness before answering.

"It's different now. Before, it was just emotional chaos…anger and hatred and confusion. Now it's become sharper." He paused. "I dreamt about a king. It was not Zachary, but someone from long ago. He wore animal pelts and an iron crown. His back was to me—I never saw his face, but I knew who he was." Another pause. "The king of the Sacor Clans, and how I hated him."

They stood in silence until Mara asked, "What does it mean?"

"I do not know. I also watched the device be stolen from the throne room. They're searching for it and the thief."

"_Stolen_?" Mara echoed. "By who?"

"The Raven Mask."

Mara waved a hand impatiently. "These are just dreams," she insisted. "The Raven Mask is dead. Your head is injured and we're both tired and hungry."

"They're not dreams," he responded quietly. "I can still see it." His brow furrowed in concentration. "I can feel the Black Shields. I feel them moving above us. I am not controlled as they are, but I see into their minds. They follow the same voice that whispers to me now."

"What voice?" She felt quite cold.

"It's…like a memory." He glanced at her, looking surprised that he was still talking. She smiled encouragingly. After a moment, he continued, "Pieces are missing, but the intention is still there. I—can't quite explain it. That device is powerful, but it's…stale. It's filled with emotion and memories, but that's all." He frowned. "They're strong memories, though, with strong emotions. They're my emotions. They're fervent and f—fan—passionate. It's not—it's just as…single-minded as…as we are. Mara—" He looked directly into her face. He whispered, "Mara, I do not understand what is happening to us, but it frightens me."

The words rendered her speechless. At a loss, she reached out and cupped his gaunt cheek in her hand. It was enough, she thought as his expression softened.

"Mara," he murmured. "If I ever—"

"I believe they're waking up," Dakrias suddenly said. Mara glanced to the side and saw the two Black Shields stirring. Fastion pulled her hand away and also turned his head, looking down at his brother and sister with a mixture of displeasure and reluctance. They each met his gaze and held it in silence. Heavy tension settled over the room until one, the man, finally spoke.

"Fastion," was all he said.

"You will stay here, Travis, Erin," Fastion answered, kneeling to undo their restraints, "for as long as you can. Keep away from the upper levels of the castle."

"You should not release us," the woman murmured, rubbing her bleeding wrists.

"You are awake now." Fastion stood and looked at Dakrias Brown. "You, however, should find somewhere safer."

"Where?" the scribe said, choosing a few books to pile together.

"The guest quarters." Travis gestured vaguely above his head. "The Green Riders have barricaded themselves there with their captain and many of the castle inhabitants. They use their abilities to keep us out."

"Is there food?" Dakrias queried, hoisting his books into his arms.

Erin smiled. "Yes, I believe so."

_Food_, Mara thought, and suddenly she was hungrier than she had ever been.

"Superb." Dakrias looked at her and Fastion. "You two will be going there also, I presume? I say we travel together. For protection, you see."

Mara met Fastion's eye. "Yes, we'll be going. Ben will be there and he can help with your head," she reasoned, adding, "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Worry still lined his face, but he nodded. "Yes, of course." He held out his arm to usher Dakrias out the door. He sent a stern look over his shoulder as he urged Mara into the hallway and the Weapons nodded silently. Once outside, Fastion shut the door. "Can you lock it?" he asked Dakrias. The old man looked surprised.

"Lock them in?"

"Yes."

"I suppose." Dakrias pulled a jingling ring of keys from his pocket. "Just as long as someone remembers to let them out."

"They won't stay in there." Fastion looked up and down the length of the door. "They will find their swords and escape."

Mara gazed at him. "You think they'll be controlled again?"

"Most assuredly. I sensed it, and they did as well."

"Then why did you take off their restraints?"

He glanced away. "Let's go."

Mara frowned, but said nothing. Fastion led the way, setting a quick pace that Dakrias struggled to follow. After receiving a keen glare from the Black Shield, he finally abandoned his books and hurried alongside Mara, who matched his unsteady gait despite Fastion's obvious impatience.

"Oh dear," Dakrias panted. "Is he always such a taskmaster?"

Mara chose not to answer. They had reached the staircase and Fastion stood halfway up, watching Dakrias doubtfully. "Will you be able to manage?" he asked.

"Yes, yes. I'm not a Weapon but I've still got legs."

Mara smiled. Her smile jolted away, however, when a scream came hurtling down the hallway. "It's the Black Shields," Dakrias wailed. "They've gotten out of the room and gone mad again, just like he expected."

"Mara," Fastion hissed urgently, one arm outstretched. "Quickly."

Mara and Dakrias limped up the stairs, clutching each other and unsure of whom was helping whom. They stumbled over the last step and what followed proved to be one of the most harrowing hours of Mara's life. By unexpectedly deciding on an obscure detour, Fastion saved them from Travis's sudden—and unaccompanied—reappearance; however, they tripped into a dark foyer glinting with the armor of numerous soldiers. Mara and Fastion halted abruptly and the Weapon grabbed Dakrias before he collided with them.

Mara's breath stuck somewhere in her throat. She dared not move for fear of alerting one of the guards. Fastion, however, reached out ever so slowly and took a handful of her sleeve. Their eyes met through the gloom and he tipped his head toward the way they had come. Mara nodded once, then looked at the soldiers. They appeared occupied by something in the center of their circle. As Mara listened, she heard raspy pleadings and a pathetic desperation that would soon become all too familiar to her.

Fastion nudged Dakrias backwards, one gauntleted hand clasped tightly over the old man's mouth. The Weapon's own steps were noiseless—not even a jingle from his armor escaped his careful movements. Mara found it difficult to tear her attention from whoever suffered, but a yank on one of her curls motivated her feet into action. Turning her back on the scene, she followed Fastion into the darkness of the hallway.

Twice they stumbled upon occupied hiding places, and three times they found hiding places that had been discovered previously and very obviously dealt with. Shock numbed Mara's legs, masking the aching exhaustion, but poor Dakrias, his aging body already weakened by hunger, grew slower with each step. Meanwhile, Fastion pressed on with startling energy, his own pains apparently forgotten. Disregarding his lagging companions, he changed their route again and again, his eyes developing a glassy look as he delved deeper into the minds of the soldiers surrounding them.

"We're almost there," Mara whispered at one point, recognizing the hall in which they stood.

"No…" Fastion stared out at nothing. "No, there are guards that way."

"I thought you could only sense the Black Shields," Mara said.

"No, I found them all. I know where they all are." He turned down a narrow corridor.

"Fastion!" Mara snatched his wrist. He avoided her gaze. "You _found _them? You let it in even further?"

"It's the only way we'll get there safely," he insisted. "Do not worry, Mara. It doesn't control me." He shook her hand off and continued forward. Mara let out a sharp exhale, then hurried to catch up, pulling Dakrias behind her. Not until the walls became heavy with decorations did she stop again. She looked around in shock. They were near the front of the castle—very near. Fastion looked back at her, bewildered.

"Where are you going?" Mara hissed.

He was completely baffled. "To the guest quarters."

"The guest quarters are _that _way. You're taking us to the throne room."

He cast his gaze about the hall as though seeing it for the first time. Shock rippled across his features. "I must have—" A hand flew to his head. "I was sure—"

Mara grasped his arms. "Fastion, whatever you're doing, please, you have to stop."

Angry, he pushed her hands away. "I can't," he snapped. Meeting her shocked gaze, he was forced to look elsewhere. "No, it's—we'll never make it. There are too many soldiers. This is the only way."

Mara shook her head. "You'll get us all killed this way. It's tricking you, can't you see? Stop using—I said—" But he wasn't paying attention. His red-rimmed eyes were locked on a suit of armor tilting crazily to one side. Mara snapped her fingers in his face, but he didn't blink. Instead, he whipped free his sword and before Mara could stop him, he hacked through the armor. The metal bits crashed against the wall, the floor, bounced off other suits, and created such thunderous pandemonium that Mara was sure it was heard all the way down in the tombs. She lunged and grabbed his hands before he could demolish anything else, struggling against his powerful swings until he looked at her again.

"What are you doing?" she cried, finally able to force down his sword.

"The soldiers—" he started, then cut off when he saw the pieces littering the floor. He gaped. "There were—the soldiers were—"

Mara grabbed his face, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "There are no soldiers," she whispered. "Fastion, what's happening? What's happening to you?"

He shook his head wordlessly, his eyes gleaming. Mara jerked one hand through his tousled hair, pulled him into a tight embrace, and murmured, "I won't let it take you again. You're stronger than it. We need you. Can you last a little bit longer?" He nodded. Mara squeezed him one last time, then pulled back. "Dakrias, how are you?"

"Alive," was the terrified scribe's response. "Barely."

"All right. Let's go then. Someone must have heard that. This way."

They set off once again. Any attempt at talking faded into silence as they dodged death again and again, as they passed familiar hallways in inconceivable chaos, and as Fastion's mental burden disintegrated into feverish muttering and quiet convulsions. Mara found herself in the lead and she didn't like it. She didn't know the castle as well as Fastion, nor was she any good at creeping about, trying to stay hidden. Glancing over her shoulder, though, she could see that he was in no condition to lead anyone anywhere. On occasion he warned her of threats up ahead that only he could sense, but otherwise when he wasn't talking to himself he stared at the walls as though they were alive.

"Perhaps we should leave him behind," Dakrias whispered.

"What?" Mara snapped, her nerves frayed, her stomach gnawing, and her patience gone.

"Well, look at him. He could break and kill us any moment."

A fiery glare forced him into silence. "We're almost there," she maintained. They would reach the guest quarters by way of the ballroom, she decided. From where they stood it was the closest route and, she hoped, the safest. She took Fastion's hand and led him and Dakrias down a servant's passage that opened up to an obscure corner of the ballroom. A tapestry hung over the exit and Mara carefully moved it aside to survey the room. Sunlight streamed through the glass windows on the opposite end of the chamber and the chandelier caught every beam, dazzling Mara's eyes. She blinked rapidly in the sudden light and pulled back. "It's bright," she said. She'd forgotten how long it had been since she last saw sunlight.

Fastion peeked around the tapestry. "It reminds me of when I was transferred up from the tombs," he mused quietly, rubbing his eyes. "I could hardly see when the king went outside."

It was the most coherent thing he had uttered in a long time and Mara barely kept herself from hugging him again. "Do you see anything now?" she asked instead, slipping beneath him to look into the ballroom.

"Guards at the entrance—" he pointed to the heavy glass doors, "—and at the top of the staircase."

"Isn't that where we need to go?" Dakrias whispered.

"They are not looking into the ballroom," Fastion continued, his eyes closed. "They're patrolling."

"How many?" Mara urged.

"Three. Regular guard."

"How will we get past them?" Dakrias moaned.

Fastion's glance was scathing. "I said they were patrolling. They're leaving now." He held the tapestry up.

"Come on," Mara whispered to Dakrias, who had slumped onto the floor to rest. The scribe forced himself up and followed Mara and Fastion past the tapestry and into the ballroom. They stole across the polished floors, their dirty feet tracking dust across the legends inscribed into the tile. Mara couldn't help but gape at the immense room. She had never been to a ball, nor had she any reason to come through here before. As they hurried up the broad stairs, her eyes swept across the enormous, vaulted ceiling, very similar to the throne room. "Wow," she murmured.

Fastion followed her gaze. "Yes," he agreed. "Ancient stonework…" His eyes shut. "A fortress."

"What do you see?" Mara whispered.

He sighed softly. "I am looking at the castle from a distance. I've never been inside." They paused in the entrance and he bent around the corner. "The patrol is just in that hallway," he breathed. "They're not moving. They're—" He drew back suddenly. "They know we're here. They've seen me. Go!" He pushed Mara forward and grabbed Dakrias's frail wrist. They ran.

"Weapon Fastion!" Voices from behind. "Traitor!"

Mara saw Fastion's hand flick to his head. She saw his fingers digging into his scalp and she felt fire ignite in her chest. She skidded to a stop, whirled around, and raised her hands. The three soldiers charged her, weapons bared. She summoned her fire. Flames whipped around her hands, around her arms. They wove between her fingers, spinning and spinning until thickening into a single flaming ball that she hurled at the center soldier. It detonated on his breastplate and fire exploded in the corridor. The roar swallowed their screams. She turned and raced to catch up with Fastion and Dakrias.

"There are more ahead, all the way to the guest chambers," Fastion hissed.

"We'll make it," she responded.

"You can't burn the hallway down in front of us," he said. "How will we get through?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you being funny, Fastion?"

He turned his head just enough for her to glimpse his quirky grin.

"There!" Dakrias cried, pointing. Fastion slowed, but Mara stormed forward. That feeling built up in her chest—that delight she always felt when she used her ability. Flames whipped all around her body now and a feral grin stretched across her face as she launched a fireball at the approaching soldiers. They fell back and she rushed past them, ignoring the smoldering air that clung to her skin. She heard Fastion and Dakrias behind her and hoped they were keeping up. She couldn't feel her pain anymore—it was just fire: blazing, burning, euphoric. Any soldier that got in her way was knocked over by heat and flames.

The final staircase appeared before her. The doors at the top were shut and Weapons lined the steps. Mara came to an abrupt halt. Moments later, Fastion and Dakrias appeared at her side. Despite his earlier recovery, Fastion now clung, trembling, to the old scribe.

The Black Shields turned to look at them curiously. Travis was among them. "Fastion," one of them said, "what are you doing?" Mara recognized his voice from before—the one that was deep and thick.

Fastion raised a strained face. "I resist," he panted. "I will not be controlled, as you have allowed yourself to be."

The Weapon regarded him without affection. "Seize them."

The Black Shields—eight in all—moved down the stairs. Dakrias's prayers started anew and Fastion emitted a low moan as his head dropped. "Mara—" he started.

"There are Riders on the other side of those doors," she whispered. "If I can just get up there, they can help us." She met his incredulous gaze. "I'm not giving up yet."

He smiled weakly and told her, "They don't care about Dakrias. They will kill you and take me to be executed as Saverill was."

Mara gritted her teeth and faced the threat. The Black Shields didn't even draw their swords. Mara glared. Did she look like such easy prey? "We'll see about that," she muttered. "If you have any strength left, Fastion, Dakrias—use it now." She raised her hands, indistinguishable beneath the layers of fire, and charged.

The nearest two barely had time to touch their swords before their faces were grabbed and scalded. Mara flung fireballs at the next pair and they tripped back into the walls. Something whistled over her shoulder and she looked up to see a sword hurtling crazily through the air, a fifth Weapon clutching his bleeding wrist and the throwing knife that impaled it. Mara tripped on a stair just as the sixth lashed out at her. She hit the staircase and looked to see blood seeping from her shoulder. Boots filled her vision and she knew a sword descended to finish its work.

Metal clanged just at her ear and the deadly blade was knocked away, slicing a lock of her hair as it flashed past her face. "Mara, go!" Fastion cried from somewhere above her. She dragged herself up the staircase, and having forgotten the other two Weapons, was shocked when a boot dug into her stomach. She rolled away from a second descending blade and with a sharp kick managed to send someone toppling down the stairs.

She scrambled toward the doors. Throwing herself against them, she screamed and pounded until she was grabbed from behind. "Rider," that deep voice growled. She reached back and clutched his hair. Fire rushed into her hands and he jolted, sending both of them tumbling to the bottom. He released her as he fell and she scrambled to stop her descent. Once she regained her equilibrium, she struggled back up the stairs and smacked her hands against the doors.

"Open the doors!" she screamed. "Captain! Someone! Please!" She heard Fastion's cry and twisted to see him pinned to the stairs, held down by two of the Weapons. Dakrias bravely beat one of them with the helmet of a suit of armor, but he was soon overcome and disappeared down the staircase. A third Weapon clambered up toward her, sword drawn and expression deadly.

Like the night she killed the wraith, fire slithered over her flesh, creating a second skin. A furnace burst within her and raw, angry fire dipped into her veins like hot poison. She crouched, animal-like. The Weapon hesitated. She could see the flicker of flames reflecting in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks from the heat. A second tormented cry from Fastion and Mara sprang, tackling the Black Shield with no regards to his sword. They flew and crashed into those below. She rolled and crushed and was crushed until arriving at the base of the staircase in a tangle of bodies and weapons.

Her fire extinguished, wisping away into the air as twisting smoke. Exhausted, she moved only to find Fastion. He lay motionless on the steps, looking broken and pathetic. Dakrias, however, limped carefully through the writhing, black-clad bodies. As he crouched beside her, Mara heard it—the creak of the doors finally opening. Her gaze lifted. Captain Mapstone was first, pounding down the stairs with hair flying. She leapt over bodies and in her rush to reach her Chief Rider didn't see the Black Shield rising with sword clutched in burned hands.

"Captain!" Mara wheezed, struggling feebly to move.

Tegan burst next from the doors. She did see the threat and shouted a warning. The captain drew her saber and twisted enough to deflect the blow. She kicked the Weapon's legs out from beneath him and he dropped.

Ty soon appeared, backwards for some reason, shouting at someone on the other side of the doors. Once he reached the base of the stairs, he and Tegan slipped their arms about Mara, raising her from her place on the floor. Laren assisted Dakrias, watching the stirring Weapons warily. "Hurry," she whispered urgently, "before they recover."

"Captain—Captain!" Mara twisted in the Riders' hands. "Fastion! Please, he's good—he saved my life. You have to help him. You have to."

Laren glanced at the prone Weapon. "Mara, I don't know…"

"You have to! He's not being controlled, I promise. You know I'm telling the truth. Ask—ask Fergal. He'd know. Please!" Her voice was shrill, and her writhing wasn't helping Tegan and Ty.

"Indeed, he saved my life as well," Dakrias interjected. "He protected me as long as he could—" His voice cut off with a shout as a Weapon grabbed his leg, knife in hand. Captain Mapstone battled the attacker off and half-dragged the old man up the stairs.

"Fine," she said. "Ty, Tegan, get her upstairs. Yates! Fergal! Get down here! We've a Weapon needs helping."

The captain didn't sound pleased, but Mara relaxed. He'd be fine, now. They both would be. Yates and Fergal appeared and followed the captain's curt orders, bending over Fastion with some reluctance. As Mara was lifted up the stairs, she heard Fergal say, "He's different than the others."

"Probably 'cause he's dead," Yates answered. "Ready? One, two—"

Mara craned her neck. They hoisted Fastion up, then paused to readjust their grips. Each time they touched him, their hands came away swathed in more blood. She tried to call his name, but then she was through the doors and in a lavish hallway being stared at by many curious eyes. The attentions shifted from her quickly however, and soon she heard horrified and infuriated gasps and whispers.

"A Black Shield?"

"They're bringing in a Weapon!"

"My lord, do you see…?"

"Captain! We will talk."

"…is he good?"

"…shouldn't have opened the doors…"

"…he's a murderer…he'll kill us all…"

"…thinking? We'll just have to…"

"…take care of it ourselves…"

…

"This matter should have been brought before us," Richmont Spane declared, looking important as he sat deeply in his borrowed chair. Lady Estora sat quietly beside him. Despite her inelegantly piled hair and tattered gown, she still appeared beautiful, in a distressed, feminine sort of way. From his own chair, Timas Mirwell snorted, but his swollen mouth prevented any of his usual caustic remarks.

"Forgive me, my lord," Captain Mapstone said, her voice low with impatience. "There wasn't time to bring anything before you. You already delayed our opening the door and as a result, we almost lost one Rider and a castle citizen."

Spane heaved sigh, sounding greatly tried. "We had to be sure the risk was worth the potential price. I'm still unsure it was." He looked pointedly at Mara, who swayed tiredly beside the captain. A fever burned in her body and she'd been soundly asleep when this strange council had summoned her. Lord Spane, Lady Estora, Lord-Governors Mirwell and Penburn all sat in a half-circle, flanked by their respective entourages. Castellan Sperren was bedridden due to a broken hip, a fact which Mara knew the captain found quite unfortunate seeing how swiftly Spane had positioned himself as leader apparent.

"We are glad to see more lives saved," Hendry Penburn said softly, with a nod to Mara. "But I am concerned about the Black Shield that has been brought in. Is that wise?"

Mara liked Lord Penburn. He was sincere, or at least he acted that way in response to Spane's pompous authority. The two obviously chafed and Penburn's voice provided practical sense against Spane's self-interest. It had been his urging that finally allowed the doors to be opened, and whether he was actually concerned for Mara or if he just wanted to spite Spane, she was grateful nonetheless.

"Yes, the choice was made quickly," the captain answered, "but I trust Rider Brennan implicitly."

Spane looked at Mara once again. "She is the one who was badly injured recently, yes? And now she suffers from fever. I do not believe she is in any condition to be trusted."

Mara peered at him through streaming eyes. She doubted anyone would care if she set him on fire, and then she could go back to bed. "Weapon Fastion and I found the device in the first place," she said, her voice sounding muted to her sick ears. She hoped they could hear her. "Since then, he has done nothing but try to stop what is happening. We—" She paused to wet her scratchy throat. "We found information about it."

"Yes. Information." Spane chuckled. "A torture device from the Long War that didn't work, so they tossed it aside and somehow it ended up in the castle."

"And this happened once before, and they were able to stop it," Mara insisted. "We can stop it now!"

"How?"

She hesitated. "They separated the pieces," she replied slowly.

"What pieces? I saw only one in the throne room," Penburn said.

Spane waved a hand. "We've left the real issue," he declared. "This Black Shield. I hear he is badly injured—"

"Injuries which he received protecting Mara and Dakrias," Captain Mapstone interjected.

"All the same, he is a threat."

"He's not controlled," Mara cried. "He can't even move right now. What sort of threat is he to you?"

"We cannot take this risk." Spane stood and turned slightly to the side. "We must make decisions that are in the best interest of everyone." He looked squarely at Mara. "He must be exterminated."

Mara's head whirled and she grasped the arms of her chair. "Killed?" she managed to gasp.

"It's the best thing to do. His injuries will probably do the job anyway, we just need to pull him from the mender's care."

"Now, wait just a moment," Penburn said, rising to his feet.

Timas Mirwell also stood. "What authority do you think you have?" he lisped. "What gives you the right to execute anyone, even a Black Shield?"

"With the king missing and the castellan bedridden as he is, it naturally falls to—"

"You? Don't make me laugh." Mirwell winced then, touching his hurt jaw gingerly.

"You are not the king," Penburn said coldly. "None of us is. If something is to be decided, we _all _will decide it." He and Spane glared at each other.

"Have you not heard the whispers of the survivors?" Spane responded. "They want his blood, and I agree with them. We will punish him for his crimes." There was a low murmuring from those gathered in the room.

"What crimes?" Mara cried. Her head swam. "He has done nothing!" She felt the captain's cool hand on her arm.

"If you want justice, my lord Spane," Mapstone said, "then perhaps you can come up with a solution for what's happening outside this wing. We won't be safe here forever."

Spane whirled on her. "Perhaps King Zachary valued your advice, Captain, but here you have no say. Do not speak again."

Mara looked at the captain in shock, but Laren merely pursed her lips.

"We will not execute the Black Shield," Penburn proclaimed. Spane curled his lip.

"You think you have any more authority than I?" he spat.

Mara felt the captain's hand on her shoulder. "Shall we go?" Mapstone whispered. "You need rest."

"No, we can't—Fastion!" Mara hissed back. "What if they decide to kill him? Captain, we can't—"

"I assure you," the captain said as she helped Mara stand, "they won't decide on anything. We'd be of more help to your Weapon if we're nearby, in case of—trouble." She looked steadily at Mara and she realized that conditions were no better in here than they were in the hallways. Despite their efforts at a council no real control existed, only the desire for self-preservation. They all stood on a string, teetering over anarchy and death and she found herself suddenly needing to find Fastion.

"Take me to him," she whispered, glancing behind to see all eyes following her as she left the room. Feeling exceptionally vulnerable, she peered at passing faces with suspicion and resentment. The sentiment was returned each time.

Ben had placed Fastion in the rear of the wing where he wouldn't be disturbed (or couldn't disturb others), in what usually served as a valet or maid's room. When the door opened, Mara broke from the captain's grip and tripped through the gloomy dark until she collided with the bed. She dropped to her knees beside it and leaned over the sleeping Weapon. His face was turned the other way, but she could see his exhausted body trembling in the deep mattress. Clean bandages sheathed his head, torso, and the one leg that peeked from beneath the blanket.

"Fastion…" Mara whispered, touching his hair.

"How is he?" Captain Mapstone asked. Mara was confused, until she heard Ben's voice.

"His skull is healed," the mender murmured from behind, "although the skin is still bleeding. He has two dangerous sword wounds from your fight on the staircase." He paused before adding, "It probably wasn't much of a fight in his case, though. I doubt he could defend himself at all."

"He can't defend himself now," Mara murmured, but neither of them heard her. Fastion jolted and she leaned nearer to him. Sometimes wheezing, sometimes gasping for breath, he whimpered like a child trapped in a nightmare.

"But that's not what worries me the most." Ben appeared beside her. "With time and proper care, he will recover from his injuries. But this—" Ben's hand swept over the bed. "This…fever that's not a fever, I don't know."

Mara sighed. "It's the device," she said quietly.

Ben looked alarmed. "You said he wasn't being controlled."

Mapstone crossed her arms. "My ability didn't tell me whether or not you were speaking truth on the staircase. Is this why?"

Mara leaned closer to the Weapon's head. "It isn't controlling him, but it's still connected to him somehow. He's dreaming about it, I think." She tried to smooth his furrowed brow, but he flung his head away, his eyes suddenly wide open and bright. He began to talk—rapid, harsh mutterings that sounded like gibberish to Mara's ears. His body writhed and convulsed and Mara grabbed him before he could roll off the bed.

"Whatever's wrong with him," Ben grunted as he joined Mara in holding the thrashing Weapon, "it isn't going to let him heal." Mara, clutching Fastion's torso, felt warm blood soak through her sleeves.

"What can I do?" Captain Mapstone demanded, watching the fit with increasing apprehension.

"Switch with me," Ben ordered. "I'll make something for him." The captain slid into place and Ben hurried out of the room.

"Fastion—" Mara said, "Fastion—shhh, shhh…" She dropped her weight onto his chest, felt his lungs heaving for breath, felt him struggling to move. He continued to rave, still nonsensical, but patterned somehow, slow and thick. "What language is this?" she whispered.

"What?" Mapstone said, occupied with avoiding the Weapon's kicking legs. "Where's Ben?"

"Here." Ben reappeared, swishing the contents of a jar. He knelt at Fastion's head.

"Isn't he already asleep?" Mara said.

"It's more of a poison, actually. Help me hold his head." Mara did so. "In high doses it's lethal, but this should be just enough to stop his movements."

"You're going to paralyze him?" Mara exclaimed, horrified.

"Calm him, Mara. I'm going to calm him." Ben tipped Fastion's head back and carefully poured the draught into his open mouth. The Weapon coughed and spluttered, fighting against Mara's hold to fling his head away. Mara watched the process in dismay, breathing only when the last of the drink was swallowed. Gradually, Fastion's ravings stilled until he lay quietly asleep.

"He's so pale," Mara said.

"Too much blood…" Ben was looking at the soiled bandages. He cursed and stood. Meeting Mara's inquiring gaze, he heaved a sigh and said honestly, "I don't know how much I can help him. I'm low on supplies as it is, and I have other patients that are—well, they're more—"

"They're not Black Shields?"

"I'm sorry, Mara. I'll do what I can."

She nodded and tried to stand, but her fever suddenly gusted through her body. She dropped onto her knees and gripped the mattress for balance.

"You're one of those patients. Can you help her back to her room, Captain?"

Laren was already slinging Mara's arm about her neck. "Come on, Mara. Time for you to finally get some rest."

"No—no," Mara protested. "I want to stay with him—please."

The captain glanced at Ben, who nodded. "There's an empty room across the hall," he said, leading them to the door and pointing. "Right there. You'll be right next to him."

"Thank you." With the captain's assistance, Mara limped into the room that was even smaller than the one in which Fastion now slept. As she slipped beneath the bedcovers, she looked to the door and was surprised to see Lady Estora standing in the hallway. The noblewoman, who had remained silent throughout all of Mara's interrogation, spoke quietly with Ben. They glanced often at Fastion's shut door, then Ben bowed and left. Estora lingered in the hallway, however, and as the captain closed Mara's door, the queen-to-be glanced in and met Mara's eye. Something strange was in the beautiful face, skulking behind her pure eyes. Then the door was shut and Mara was soon asleep.

She awoke after some indeterminate amount of time to a room mottled with shadows. Her fever still burned, but that wasn't what had roused her. She sensed something else—something wrong. Something had changed. She left the warm cocoon of blankets and crept out of her room. Moonlight ghosted the hallways: night had finally fallen and the guest quarters were quiet. After pausing to listen—and hearing nothing—she stole to Fastion's room. He lay unmoving on the bed, his deep breathing steady as it stirred the otherwise still air. Mara frowned and tugged a hand through her hair. What had woken her?

She thought to hear her name, but so softly it seemed almost to be a memory. She squinted at Fastion. He hadn't moved. Then he called her name again, hardly any louder than the first time. She shut the door and hurried to him, kneeling at the bedside. "Fastion?" she inquired softly.

"Mara…" His eyes glimmered. One hand rose and she seized his cold fingers, holding them tightly against her own hot skin.

"Are you better?" she asked.

"It's stronger," he breathed. "It's so much stronger than before." His other hand slid down his chest, clawing feebly at the bandages. "It's everywhere." His fingers tightened around hers. "Mara, I can hear him," he grated. "I can hear him. Both of the pieces—they're here."

_Both of them? _She clasped her hands over his ears, as though she could block out its voice. "Don't listen to it," she urged. "Listen to _me_. You're strong enough." She pressed her forehead against his and repeated in a whisper, "You're strong enough."

His thin sigh warmed her mouth. "It's his memories. Mornhavon's. It's his—" He cut off with a grimace.

"Shhh…" She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Don't think."

"Mara—"

"Shhh…"

"Mara, the king—"

"The king you saw before?"

"No. King Zachary."

"What about him?"

Fastion's hand found her face and he pushed it away to see her better. "He's here. He's come back."

Mara stared, then asked in a breathy whisper, "How do you know?"

Fastion's face creased with pain. "I see him," he uttered, "through their eyes."

"How—"

Pounding at the doors, someone shouting her name. Mara lurched from the bedside as the door flung open. Tegan stood there, looking terrified in her disheveled clothing. "Mara! We need you. Can you use your fire?"

"I-I don't know—"

"They're breaking in. They're breaking down the doors." She gripped her arm. "We need your help or they'll kill us all."

Mara looked helplessly at Fastion as Tegan hauled her into the hallway. The Weapon held her gaze until she was gone.

"Is there—Mara! You've come! Go there—Alton is holding these doors. Tegan, stay here."

Mara saw Alton, looking as exhausted as she felt, sitting with his back against the wall, eyes shut in concentration. Fergal stood above him, holding a trembling saber at the doors. _He's so young,_ Mara thought as she was pushed down the corridor past bystanders peeking from their bedrooms.

"Are there only Riders here to defend?" she asked whoever guided her—Captain Mapstone.

"We're the only ones left."

Ty and Yates leaned against another set of doors. Rhythmic pounding came from the other side.

"If they get through," the captain said, "burn them."

"King Zachary is here at the castle," Mara blurted. "The Weapons have him."

Captain Mapstone stood as if paralyzed. "How do you know?" she eventually demanded.

"Fastion saw them."

She continued to stare. "Then I pray that he is mistaken, or all is lost." She whirled around and hurried back down the hall. Mara watched her go, then turned to the doors. With a deep, steadying breath, she summoned her fire once more.


	25. Chapter 25

**It's just over this magical bridge of hope and wonder, Charrrlliiiieeee…**

…

It was just as he remembered. Silent, save for the crunch of grass beneath their horses' hooves; so bright he wished for darkness, and thick with enormity. His wide eyes swept over the colorless horizon and he distinguished pale blotches in the distance—bridges, if he recalled correctly. Bridges to unknown places and unknown times in worlds he couldn't understand. He glanced at Karigan. Her initial shock—presumably at this guess actually working—had dispelled and resolve now pulled her brow heavily over her eyes. The king saw the shadows persisting around her stubborn mouth and, although darkness did not seem to exist beneath this strange, sourceless light, midnight speckled her gaze. Despite it, he fancied he saw Black Island's sunshine clinging valiantly to the blonde strand that escaped her binding braid.

"When we arrive," she said over the hoof beats, "I don't know where we'll be, but we'll have to be careful. If the castle is still like it was when we left—well." She tossed him a weak smile.

"I remember," he murmured, though she didn't hear it. Disquiet stirred in his chest. "Impossible." He could hardly hear his own whispered word. In his mind, his Weapons thrust their swords deep into his bed and Fastion shook Karigan in a dim, stone passageway. Now, a man willing to murder three Green Riders and burn his own children added an Arcosian device to chaos that rivaled Amilton's coup. Something unpleasant dropped through the king's stomach. The dream was truly over, then.

They approached a bridge. The landscape beneath it didn't alter—no pits or cliffs yawned at him, and beyond it he was unable to distinguish any changes. "How do you know where you are going?" he called.

Karigan halted Condor and squinted at something at her left. Zachary followed her gaze. It was another bridge. Perhaps she was lost.

"What is that…?" Karigan mumbled, turning Condor about.

The king looked again at the bridge and as they drew nearer to it, he caught glimpses of color. Shapeless, it winked at him like a reflection on a bubble. It seemed harmless to him, but Karigan dismounted in one quick, wary move. Zachary followed suit. Colors shimmered across the stone, fading and pooling like water. Enchanted, Zachary crouched near the stone and reached one hand out. "You have never seen this before?" he asked. Vibrant purple gathered on the stone beneath his fingers as though waiting for his touch.

"No." Karigan tentatively placed a foot on the bridge. Deep blue pooled beneath her boot. She tapped her toe a few times, then pulled her other foot onto the stone. The color melted into red. She set her hands on her hips and turned in a circle. The pool of color followed her steps.

"How odd." Zachary walked onto the bridge. "If it wasn't so suspicious, I would say it was lovely—"

The colors plummeted into black. Cracks rushed out from beneath their feet and the pool seeped through them to form a gaping pit below the bridge. Karigan shoved Zachary over the crumbling stone onto the grass. He turned to grab her outstretched hand and yanked her to safety.

"Go!" Karigan shouted as she heaved herself into Condor's saddle. Night Hawk was running before Zachary could establish his seat and so he clutched the horse's neck, his free foot hunting for the stirrup as the white world fell into pieces around them. The black pit ripped the ground apart like paper. It devoured the grass between Karigan and the king and zigzagged far ahead of them before splitting into two. One branch cut directly in front of Karigan, and Condor's muscles bunched in preparation to jump.

Night Hawk came to a wild halt. He bucked and whirled and Zachary was tossed like a doll across the horse's back. He thwacked against the ground, felt his arm snap beneath his weight, then Night Hawk shot off once again. One foot trapped in the stirrup, Zachary was carted along, limp with pain and shock. He gazed bleary-eyed at the patchy sky, at the strange colors and textures that bled through the holes like wet paint, running together to form familiar stone walls, tapestries, and frescoes. The grass that raked his exposed back hardened into stone, the blinding white faded, and he was in a dimly lit chamber that he knew very, very well.

Night Hawk's hoof beats echoed around the throne room as the horse pranced about in a panic. He towed the king down the carpet and around the dais. Zachary was resigned to where he had arrived until he found himself being hauled past a heap of corpses. Horrified, he lurched and quickly became reacquainted with his broken arm.

When Night Hawk finally halted, it was a moment before Zachary noticed the hands at his ankle. A painful interlude passed, then his leg was free and it dropped heavily to the floor. He craned his neck to see his rescuer. A woman—a Weapon…he knew her, but she seemed out of place somehow. She strode to stand above the king, the expression on her attractive face unreadable. Zachary blinked. Beryl Spencer…dressed as a Black Shield? Confused but nevertheless relieved, he held out his good hand as she reached down.

"Forgive me, Excellency," the Rider whispered, genuine regret in her eyes. With that, she grabbed Zachary's shattered arm and pulled. Pain ripped through the king's body and he screamed. Someone else took hold of his other arm and dragged him down the carpet. Eyes flashing, head wheeling, Zachary tried to locate Karigan, but all he saw was black.

He was dumped unceremoniously at the foot of the throne. Zachary groaned and lifted his head. Two muddy brown shoes brushed his nose. He hesitated, then raised his eyes. "Oh, gods," he gasped.

"I see that you're about as surprised to see me as I am to see you," Mickey Morriseen drawled. Zachary merely stared. Over his stained garb, the blacksmith wore Zachary's own favorite blue coat, a royal sash, and perched atop his too-big head was the king's delicate silver crown.

…

_Every time_, Amberhill thought, gaping. Every single time he saw this girl something unnatural had happened, was happening, or was about to happen. He thought that great black horse was something astounding, but now she challenged that vision with this extraordinary appearance. He cowered at the windows of the queen's solarium as Karigan G'ladheon and her horse flew over his head as though they leapt from the glass itself. The Weapon that had been about to skewer him was knocked down by the gelding's hooves. The horse landed in the soft dirt of a flowerbed and staggered from the impact. The Green Rider kept her seat with practiced effort, looking about herself with mixed dismay and surprise. She allowed her frightened horse a few erratic lopes then halted him. When her sharp gaze fell on Amberhill, he flinched instinctively.

"What happened?" she asked. He looked at the Weapon's body.

"You did that," he answered.

Her brow furrowed and she dismounted. "Where's King Zachary?"

"I was under the impression he was with you—"

"He's not here? You haven't seen him?" She swore colorfully and yanked her hands through her hair. "Of course. Of course!"

"You've misplaced the king?" He chewed his lip. "That's most disturbing. Perhaps he was left behind when you jumped through the _wall_." He narrowed his eyes.

She pointed a finger at him. "_You_—" Cutting herself short, her finger shifted to the bundle under his arm. "What is that?"

He glanced down. Light shone through gaps in his coat. "This old thing?"

"Those colors—" She rushed forward and before he could react, she held the strange device in her hands.

"Don't do that!" Amberhill cried, but the coat had already slipped away. The exposed lights illuminated the interior of the solarium, shimmered on the petals and leaves of the surrounding gardens, and twinkled an answering orange in Karigan's blue eyes.

"What is this?"

"The reason this castle has been tossed into hell." He reached for it. "And now, thanks to you, they all know where we are." He whipped his jacket around the device and tucked it beneath his arm. "Keep the glass covered, it doesn't know where it is and can't tell them where to find it. Uncover the glass—" He cut off at the sound of distant voices. He shrunk against the windows. "I've been trying to escape the grounds to take this thing away, but I'm stopped every time."

Karigan grabbed his arm. "We can stop it," she hissed. "The other parts are here at the castle. We just have to find them and turn it off."

"What other parts?"

Karigan's eyes darkened. "Mickey."

Amberhill raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Karigan moved away, hugged her horse's neck, and whispered, "Take care of yourself," then gave him a sharp smack on his haunches. Turning back to Amberhill, she said, "Follow me." He hesitated and she sighed impatiently. "What is it?"

He waved an elegant hand. "Nothing. I'm merely slightly shocked that you want me to bring this back into the castle."

Karigan glanced past him. "Then why are you wasting my time? Take it away if you really want—I need to find King Zachary." She opened the glass door of the solarium and slipped inside.

Amberhill looked in the direction of the approaching soldiers, tapped his booted toe, then sighed in exasperation and followed her. "Care to explain what you're planning?" the nobleman whispered as they moved through the darkness. Fortunately, the queen-to-be hadn't yet furnished the room and the door was simple to find.

"There are two parts to this device," Karigan answered, "and a key that connects them."

"And this key can stop the magic from working."

"Yes." She checked the dark hallway, then gestured for him to follow her out. "I think."

"You _think_?" Amberhill chuckled. "Wonderful. We're bringing all these pieces together for a plan that may or may not work."

Karigan threw a glare over her shoulder. "Do you have any better suggestions?"

He waited to respond until after they had safely rounded a corner. "You seem to have a penchant for miraculous escapes," he continued in a whisper. "Why don't you try your hand at sneaking away from the grounds?"

"You already tried that."

"True—but, my dear, I don't have a magical horse."

"Karigan!"

Karigan and Amberhill halted. A Black Shield hurried toward them, hardly discernible in the gloom of the hallway. "Willis?" Karigan said uncertainly. Amberhill pressed a knife into her hand. To his surprise, she accepted it. The young Weapon stopped a few paces away from them. He was smiling.

"It is good to see you," he said, genuine warmth in his voice. He nodded to Amberhill. "You have brought the king back with you, I presume?"

"'Ware," Amberhill murmured.

"I have," Karigan answered.

Willis sighed. "Good. He is safe?"

A pause. "Yes."

"What is that?" Willis pointed at the device, safely concealed by Amberhill's coat.

"Nothing," Karigan said. "Willis, can you tell me where I can find Captain Mapstone?"

"He cannot be trusted," Amberhill hissed, reaching slowly for his sword.

"The captain is hiding," Willis replied. "Can I see what you are holding?"

"No," Amberhill snarled. His fingers curled around the hilt. Willis's eyes shifted past their heads. Glancing back, Amberhill cursed softly. Three more Black Shields approached from behind.

"Give it to me, sister," Willis said calmly. He reached one hand out. "I do not wish to kill you."

Karigan frowned, then promptly vanished. Amberhill made a strangled sound, which turned into a shout as Willis drew his sword and sliced the empty air in one deadly movement. He cried out then, stumbling backwards and grasping the knife now impaled beneath his collarbone. A breath later, he lashed out despite it.

"Go!" Karigan cried from nowhere. Amberhill sprinted past the lethal blade.

"Where am I going?" he called back. He received no response. Gritting his teeth and cursing the gods for his rotten luck, he headed to where his misadventure had begun: the throne room.

…

The door splintered. Yates and Ty were knocked to the ground. Mara shifted her feet in anticipation. She pushed her attention through her swirling mind and felt her wild fire stream into her veins. It would keep coming, no matter the fever that swelled in her head. Another hit and one of the hinges popped from the wall. Yates and Ty moved to her side, sabers drawn.

"We're going to die," Yates muttered. "We are going to die. There's no way we'll survive this."

"If we can survive long enough to make the others safe, then our deaths will not be in vain," Ty answered. Yates rolled his eyes.

"And with that rousing speech—Mara, Ty, it's been good knowing you."

The door burst open. Mara threw out her hands. Two powerful whips of fire cracked across the breastplates of the front soldiers. They soared backwards, effectively knocking down the attackers behind them. Ty and Yates rushed into the stairwell, striving to keep the threat down. Mara wavered. _Can't do that again_, she thought, grasping the dangling door for support. After a moment, she joined her fellow Riders, fighting with sword and flame. She noted there were no Black Shields, but didn't allow herself the terror of wondering where they were.

As quickly as the battle began, it ended. The three Riders stared at the fallen and retreating soldiers with mixed relief and unease. "That wasn't so bad," Yates panted. He touched a wounded leg gingerly. "Not bad at all."

"That was far too easy," Ty stated. "We were outnumbered."

"Oh, come on. Have you so little faith in our talents?" Yates grinned. Ty glared.

"I just think that if they really wanted to overcome us, they could have done so easily."

"Are you saying they didn't want to win?" Mara shook her head. "That doesn't make sense."

Ty shrugged—an uncharacteristic movement made characteristic by his natural grace. "I don't understand it—"

"Hey!" Yates shouted. "They're back!"

Another scuffle ensued and again, the soldiers fell back at the orders of a silent command, leaving three baffled Green Riders standing in the doorway. "They aren't even trying," Yates complained. He slipped to the floor and tore his shirt to wad his injured leg. "I know they fight better than that."

Ty crouched to look down the stairs. "They've doused the torches. I can't see them. Yates?"

Yates sighed and squinted. "They aren't there anymore." He 'humphed' and continued ministering to his bleeding thigh. "Madmen," he muttered. Once his makeshift bandage was tied, he stood and peered through the shadows. "Yup. They're back now."

And so it went. The guards came up the stairs to fight, only to retreat again. In the gaps between attacks, the Riders managed to right the door, using their sword hilts as hammers to fix the broken hinge. Sometimes only a few minutes passed, at other times Mara felt an hour's stretch. After a particularly long skirmish, she left Yates and Ty to seek out the captain. When she reached the main doors, she found Alton sleeping or unconscious against the wall, but past the open doors no soldiers fought. Captain Mapstone dropped her hands on her hips as Mara approached. "You too?" she asked in a wry tone.

"They come and they go. Have you fought any Black Shields?"

"No."

Mara considered for a moment. "Something's wrong. Fastion will know."

Mapstone grabbed her arm as she passed. "Mara," she said, "be careful."

Mara met her gaze steadily. "I trust him, Captain."

Laren released her grip and traced the scar along her neck. "Just trust?"

Surprised at the implication, it was a moment before Mara finally stammered, "I don't—what do you—"

The captain waved a hand to dismiss her words. "Just be careful. I can't afford to lose you."

Mara moved away with a frown. The back hallways were eerily quiet compared to the confusion at the front. She scratched at Fastion's door and let herself in when there was no response. She stopped, however, her hand still on the handle, shocked to see Ben collapsed on the floor and Fastion crouched beside him. _It can't be_, she thought, horrified. Fastion noticed her and stood. Mara could only stare.

"He's fine, Mara," the Weapon assured. "He healed me." He looked down. "He exhausted himself."

Mara walked slowly to the Black Shield. He looked greatly recovered: only the lingering shadows beneath his eyes betrayed his brief tryst with death. She reached out and touched the torn fabric of his shirt, searching for wounds and finding none. Next she dropped to the floor and scrutinized Ben. He snored softly, beads of sweat staining his pale features. Fastion leaned down and together they lifted the Rider onto the mattress. Mara tucked the blanket around him. Fastion watched her in silence.

"Did you think I had hurt him?"

Mara's hands paused. "No," she said finally, turning to face him. She smiled. "I know you wouldn't."

"You can't know that." The finality in his voice surprised her. He turned away and began buckling on his armor. "I thought you were defending the doors," he said without looking.

Mara narrowed her eyes. "I was. I came to see if you knew anything about the attacks. They're random and there aren't any Black Shields. What are they doing?"

"They're distracting you."

"From what?"

"The king—" He looked about to say more, but he merely tugged on his gauntlets. Mara surveyed his agitated movements with suspicion.

"What are you doing?"

He turned. "I'm going to help you." He buckled his sword belt.

"How?"

He hesitated. "I'll help you fight them."

"No you're not." She crossed her arms. "You're hiding something. What did you see?"

"I saw nothing."

"You saw the king. You're going to go find him, aren't you?"

Fastion's chin lifted. "Yes." He stepped past her. Mara followed him into the hall.

"He's surrounded by Weapons. You'd never get close to him. Do you have a plan? Some sort of strategy?"

"Do not concern yourself with me, Mara. Go help your Riders." He waved her away. Mara halted, startled by the cold dismissal.

"So you're just going to go all alone?" she shouted at his retreating back. "And when I find your tortured, crow-eaten body, what will I do then?" He stopped walking and stood very still. "I mean," she faltered, "we've been together this—this entire time and it's stupid that you're trying to go off and get yourself killed now that we're actually sort of safe." He turned, his expression speculative. She dropped her gaze. "You're healed and thinking clearly," she mumbled. "Now we should come up with a plan."

He walked back to her and looking up, Mara was met with a stare that was far too keen. She reddened beneath his searching eyes and reached up to pull some hair over her burns. His smile quirked. "Karigan is very lucky to have you as a friend," he murmured.

Her embarrassment dissolved into anger. "I'm _your_ friend!" She thumped his breastplate with one angry fist. "Tell me what you're doing!"

He grabbed her wrist. She struggled against his grip—both grips when he snatched her other hand—until she realized he wasn't fighting her. "I'm going to draw them away," Fastion said quietly, holding her arms close to his chest. "The power of the device is driven by Mornhavon's emotions, nothing more. It doesn't have a consciousness. It has latched onto us because we're just as mad as he was. It feeds on our passion."

"I don't understand."

"It uses our emotions. They'll come after me because of their hatred for traitors, which will give you the chance to find the king or the device, or give you an opening to escape."

Mara stared. "You'll die," she said in a small voice. A line appeared between his brows.

"Mara—"

She tugged at her captive arms. "I'm coming with you," she declared, glaring at his hands.

"Mara—"

"Don't argue with me. I'm not going to let you die now—not after what we've been through together." She struggled against his powerful hold. "Let me go! I'm not sick and I don't need rest. I want to finish this!"

His hands opened and she teetered at the sudden release. She raised a defiant face to his amused smile. "I do not want to put you in more danger," he said. Before she could protest, he continued quietly, "but if you are certain you want to go, then I admit I would like you to be with me."

She blinked, then searched frantically for something to look at. "Well, then—then we should go."

He caught her hand as she moved away. "We'll distract them together—but Mara, you have to get to the king. Promise me you'll find him, no matter what is happening to me."

She frowned, then nodded. "I'll try." She turned from his grateful expression. "Let's go."


	26. Chapter 26

**I have a day to finish this fanfiction 'cause I'm flying to Russia on Wednesday (what the random?). Thanks to authors and besties Kate Wicker and Taylor Hayes for late nights of mental collaboration to pull this ending together before I leave. **

**Let me know of typos or other awkward mistakes. I was tired.**

…

Yates looked up with a smile as Mara approached, but upon seeing Fastion, the smile dropped and he pulled himself up to his greatest height. "We were wondering where you went," he said, watching the Black Shield warily. Mara smiled in response and proceeded to the door. Yates dropped his hand on the handle with a frown. "And where are you going?"

Mara sighed. "Let us pass, Yates."

"Nope." His eyes fell on Fastion. "You're planning something and I don't think the captain would like it."

"Yates, please—"

"Mara," Ty murmured. He gestured and Mara reluctantly joined him a short ways down the hall. Yates meanwhile leveled Fastion with the sternest glare he could muster, but it quickly dissipated beneath the Weapon's steady, undaunted gaze.

"Mara, what are you thinking?" Ty hissed. "You can't go back out there, especially not with him."

"If you want all of this to end, I have to go back out there—especially with him. Ty—we could use you. We are going to lead as many Weapons as we can away from the throne room. Someone has to go in and rescue the king."

Ty looked horrified. "Was that going to be you? By yourself? Mara, are you insane?"

"I wouldn't be by myself if you helped us," she insisted. He leaned away.

"I don't know. We need to speak with Captain Mapstone."

Mara shrugged. "Go, then, though I doubt Lord Spane and the others will let their only line of defense abandon them. Fastion and I are leaving now." She rejoined the other two men. By this time, Yates had turned his back on the Weapon's unwavering, unnerving stare and currently busied himself with the cracked door. He watched in some despair as Mara opened it.

"Mara, are you really going?" he asked.

"We're useless if we stay here."

"But you're sick, aren't you?"

She smiled and patted his outstretched hand. "I'll see you later, Yates." Fastion placed a hand on her back and led her through the door. Had he glanced at the Riders, he would have seen their furious glares.

"Do you think he's done something to her?" Yates muttered, watching them hurry down the stairs. "Some sort of magic?"

A worried frown creased Ty's brow. "She seemed in control of her senses."

Yates continued to glower, until a thought occurred to him. "Wait. No. You don't think…he and Mara…?"

Ty looked at him slowly. "What?"

"Well—they were together a long time. Maybe…?"

"I doubt Black Shields allow themselves any extraneous relationships." Ty closed the door. "I imagine they would be considered distractions. If it was a choice between her and the king, the king would always come first." His words cast a dark shadow and he rested a hand against the wood, whispering, "I hope she makes it through this."

A short time later, Fastion and Mara each hid beside a respective suit of armor. "How are you going to get their attention?" she asked.

"I will simply let them know where I am." His eyes shut.

Mara moaned and thumped her head against the wall. A brief moment passed, then Fastion shuddered and reached out a hand. Mara grasped it. "What is it? Did it work?"

"Yes. They're coming." He shuddered again, some hidden pain causing him to buckle and shrink. "They're so angry," he gasped. "So—confused. Mara, we must help them—"

"We will, but first we need to run. Come on!" She tugged his hand until his legs moved. They followed their predetermined course: a circuitous route swinging from one side of the throne room to the other, at which point they would separate. Mara would then do her best to help King Zachary, and Fastion—well, he said he would do his best to lose his pursuers. It struck her that logically, it would be better if she stayed where she was and let Fastion lead the Weapons away, instead of both of them running. The thought hadn't occurred to him, however, and so she kept quiet, releasing his hand to facilitate speed. He quickly recaptured her fingers, slowing to a walk. "Now what?" Mara panted.

His wide eyes displayed his obvious excitement. "Karigan's here," he exclaimed.

Something released in Mara's chest. "Good," she sighed. It didn't necessarily change anything, but knowing her heroic friend was somewhere nearby dispelled some of the strain knotting her nerves together. "Where is she?"

His brow knit together. "Gone. She disappeared."

"It must be her ability. Maybe we'll bump into her."

"She had the device." Their eyes met through the gloom.

Mara smiled. "Then let's keep going. We might just win this."

He grinned, grabbed her hand, and they ran.

…

Amberhill choked and dove into an alcove, barely avoiding a contingent of Black Shields heading the opposite direction. He calmed his breathing, then dared to step back into the open.

"That was close."

He yelped and dropped the device. The G'ladheon woman appeared beside him and rushed to pick it up. "What are you doing?" she demanded, making sure the lights were hidden.

"What are_ you_ doing?" he wheezed. "Do not sneak up on me." He craned his neck to see if anyone overheard them, then noticed the blood staining her shirt. "You're hurt," he stated. Karigan shook her head.

"It's an old injury. Nothing to worry about." She glanced over her shoulder. "There's more chasing us now."

"Shall we flee, lovely one?" He bowed, one arm outstretched. She scowled at him, but they fell into step beside each other easily. "When we reach the throne room, what do we do then?" he asked between breaths.

Karigan frowned at the ground in front of her.

"Oh good," Amberhill smiled. "You don't know. Well, let's consider. There are Black Shields chasing us, Black Shields most likely in and around the throne room as well as this second piece you speak of, and probably Black Shields imprisoning or killing the king." He made a pensive expression. "Our odds do not look good."

"You're a sage," Karigan drawled. "Do you have anything useful to say?"

He thought for a moment. "No, I suppose I don't."

They approached a corner and slowed. As they crept closer, a Black Shield burst around the turn. Karigan whipped out her sword and the Weapon checked, staring at her with clouded gray eyes. "Fastion," she said in a low voice. He blinked, holding himself very still. Amberhill's trapped breath hissed from his lungs as a second figure appeared, this one in distinct, but dirty Rider green.

"Karigan!" the young woman cried. Amberhill recognized her from around the castle—the right side of her face was puckered and scarred from flames. To his surprise, she latched onto the Weapon's arm. "Don't!"

Karigan looked from one to the other, confused but still wary. "Mara?" The Weapon moved and Karigan's sword was at his neck in an instant. "Last I saw you," she said, "you were searching for the king to kill him."

"Yes," he responded simply.

"And now? Mara?"

"He's fine." She was still clinging to him. "It's not controlling him. We're trying to stop it."

Karigan's eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, Amberhill interrupted. "This is a touching reunion, but we have other problems on their way."

"We are being pursued, as well," Fastion said. He stepped away from Karigan's blade. "If they're coming from both directions, we need to find a defensible position."

"One of these rooms?" Mara suggested.

Amberhill heard the approaching threat. "Quickly," he hissed. Karigan hesitated a moment longer, then led the group through a door. Once inside, she and Fastion dragged the occupant tables and chairs and piled them before the door.

Mara, meanwhile, gazed curiously at Amberhill. "Were you not able to make it to the guest quarters, my lord?"

He looked at her sidelong. "I'm afraid not. I was detained." He dazzled her with a smile. "Which is fortunate, else I'd not have met you." He sketched a bow. "Xandis Pierce Amberhill, your servant."

"I know who you are," Mara said with a flattered grin. "I'm Mara Brennan."

He took her hand, not batting an eyelash at her chopped fingers, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Enchanted."

"What is that?" Fastion's voice sliced through Mara's amused laugh. Amberhill straightened and looked steadily at the Weapon. Having already heard those words twice before, he was careful to keep a significant distance between himself and this Fastion.

"Nothing," he answered blithely. Fastion walked toward him, his eyes shadowed in the darkness.

"That's the device," he said, his voice trembling. "You have it hidden there, don't you?"

"Fastion…." Karigan warned.

"The Raven Mask stole it from the throne room," Mara said quietly. She peered into Amberhill's face. "But the Raven Mask is dead."

"It's him. I don't know what trick you played, but I know you now." Fastion reached out one hand. "Give it to me."

"And what will you do with it? Call down your minions to retrieve it? I think not." Amberhill held the bundle tightly against his chest. "Karigan says she can stop the magic."

"Not without the other pieces," Mara countered. Karigan's brows lifted.

"You know about the other pieces?" she asked, surprised.

"Fastion and I found information about them," Mara explained. "We were trying to get to them and the king when we ran into you."

"The king?" Karigan grabbed Mara's hands. "You know where he is? Is he safe?"

"He's in the throne room with the other piece." Fastion paused. "He's alive, but in pain." His brow furrowed. "Strange…"

"What?" Mara urged. Karigan and Amberhill exchanged perplexed glances.

"There's something strange in there with him. A blank spot. There should be someone there, but—they can't see anyone."

"You can see into the throne room?" Karigan asked. "How?"

Mara looked significantly at Fastion, who avoided her gaze. "He's connected to their minds," she said. "He can see through their eyes."

"Are they in your mind?" Amberhill inquired slowly.

Fastion shifted restlessly. "Our plan was to draw them away from the throne room using me as bait, while Mara found the king."

The door shuddered beneath sudden pounding.

"And now we're stuck in here." Karigan huffed. Fastion's hand went out once more.

"Give me the device," he said, "and I will lead them away."

"You can't open that door. They'll come right in," Amberhill said, stepping away.

"I'm going to use the magic." Fastion followed the retreat. "I'll control them."

"How can you do that?" Amberhill backed into a chair and hurried around it. "It'll just use you, like it's used all the rest of you."

"Fastion…." Mara said softly, seeing the Weapon's rare temper rising. Behind them, the pounding persisted.

"If you do not give it to me," he growled, "then we will all die. Do you understand me?"

"Will they kill us?" Amberhill snapped, "Or will you?"

Karigan jumped for Fastion, but the Black Shield was faster. He used the chair as a springboard and it crashed behind him as he dragged Amberhill to the floor. The nobleman cried out and writhed beneath the Weapon's unbreakable hold. "I should kill you," Fastion snarled, crushing Amberhill's throat with one hand, "for kidnapping Lady Estora, _thief_, and for my brothers and sisters that died because of it." He drew a knife with his other hand and stabbed it into the carpet beside the man's head, slicing Amberhill's ear in the process. Amberhill choked and gurgled, fighting vainly to free himself. Karigan dropped to the ground beside them.

"Fastion, let him go," she whispered. The Weapon's expression—an ugly mask of hatred and fury—didn't alter as the knife was raised once again. Karigan grasped his wrist and urged, "Please, just let him go—for now. There are others things we need to do. He can wait." Fastion's sharp eyes shifted to scowl at her. She glowered right back. "Let him go."

The Weapon trembled, but he finally pried his fingers from the thief's neck and pulled himself away. Amberhill hacked and gagged and struggled for air, curling into a ball on the carpet.

Mara touched Fastion's arm and he flinched. With a gentle smile, she held out the device, which Amberhill had released at one point or another. The colors dripped from the ceiling and walls and glinted in Fastion's light eyes. "Do you know what you need to do?" she asked as he took it from her. He righted the chair and sat down, gazing through the glass panels. After a moment's consideration, he closed his eyes in concentration.

Karigan reached a hand to Amberhill and he used it to pull himself up. Smiling into his strained face, she murmured, "Next time, don't antagonize the angry Black Shield." Amberhill coughed in response, removing himself to the other side of the room. Karigan moved to stand beside Mara. "What is he doing?"

"I'm not sure," she answered vaguely. Karigan surveyed her friend's tired features.

"Has it been awful?" she asked. Mara shook her head and shrugged.

"Fastion and I were missing for the most part of it. When we did reach the main levels, however, it was—well." She pushed ragged hair from her face. "You've seen the hallways."

"I'm so sorry," Karigan said softly.

Mara laughed. "It wasn't your fault, Karigan—for once."

"I should have come back sooner. Maybe I could have done something."

"Yes—where did you go? You've been gone—has it been days?" She looked confused, then laughed again. "Wow."

Karigan scuffed her toe on the carpet. "We went to…an island."

Mara gaped. "You took King Zachary to an island? Where? How?" She paused, then added, "Was it pretty?"

Karigan was spared the explanation when the pounding on the doors suddenly ceased. Fastion's eyes flashed open. He looked at Karigan and Mara and in one quick movement, his sword was in his hands and he lunged at them. Karigan drew her own saber, but before the blades met, Fastion halted and leaned on his weapon, panting. He glanced back at the device, twinkling in the carpet, and exhaled deeply.

"Um…?" Karigan said. Fastion jumped at her voice, then pointed with his sword.

"King Zachary is dying," he said in a rush. Karigan blanched. "Go!"

Karigan sprinted to the door. She grabbed Amberhill by the shirt and hurled him at the furniture blocking the way. They tore through the chairs and tables until the door was finally yanked open. Karigan hesitated. The Black Shields in the hall watched her and Amberhill with narrowed eyes, but their swords were sheathed and they made no move to stop them. Karigan walked carefully through their midst and a moment later, the pair was gone.

Fastion sunk back into the chair. Mara knelt beside him. "What happened?"

"I was right," he muttered. He shook his head briskly and launched into an explanation. "The device is a reservoir for magic. It was empty until magic from Blackveil filled it, but because of Mornhavon's presence, it was also filled with his emotions, his desires. He wanted the king of the Sacor Clans dead."

"You said that it fed off of your passions."

"Yes. It manipulated us—used us, but it has no thoughts or purpose, only the memories Blackveil gave it."

"Which would explain its inconsistency. It stopped once the king disappeared, and after that only some Weapons were controlled while others weren't, and Travis and Erin were fine when they woke up."

"Until the second piece came."

"And…now it has thoughts?"

"No. Someone brought it. He controls it."

"He?"

Fastion sank back into the chair. "Yes. His mind was weak, but I couldn't push him away."

Mara glanced at the open door. The Black Shields peered back at her. She hurried and shut the door, then pushed a few pieces of furniture against it. "How did you get them to stop, then?" she asked, returning to his side.

"The man was weak-minded, but his desire for control was strong. The magic clung to his soul—as dark as it felt." Fastion shuddered. "Mara, it was so strange. I could see him—inside of him. He was—" He shook his head again. "I had to offer it something else."

"Mmm."

He met her eyes. "Mara, it was the only way."

"What emotions did you offer it? The ones you felt when you attacked Lord Amberhill? The ones that made you attack Karigan and me?"

He held her gaze as long as he could. "He was too connected. I had to give it as much as I could. It fed off my—anger and my hate. It was simple to turn it against him then."

Mara gritted her teeth, then jumped as the pounding on the door recommenced. "I thought you stopped them," she shouted. Fastion snatched up the device. Mara grabbed his wrists. "No! Do something else!"

"Mara—"

"I can't lose you," she cried, then she clamped her teeth over her lip. "I mean—I don't want you to become something you don't want to become. I know you don't…like it."

There was that keen, searching gaze again. One of his hands reached up to her face. "Then I'll offer it something stronger," he murmured.

Mara stood slowly, somehow unable to break eye contact. "I'll keep them busy," she responded. Fire whipped around her hands and she turned and raced to the door.

…

"Mickey?" Zachary gasped. The blacksmith leaned down to see him better, but as his legs were too short to reach the floor, he took a moment to scoot forward in the throne.

"How did you get here?" Mickey demanded. "What sort of magic was that?"

Zachary stared up at him, pain making his head swim and bringing a gurgle of laughter up into his throat. "How did _you_ get here?" he countered. He struggled with his good arm to push himself up, but Mickey dropped his foot on the king's head.

"Stay down there," he said, "and answer my questions."

Enraged, Zachary grabbed the fat man's ankle and wrenched his leg to the side. He had dragged himself almost to eyelevel before the Black Shields jerked him back. His broken bones screamed and he fell limp in their arms. Mickey looked uncertainly at the deadly soldiers. "It's hard to imagine my little Emmi as one of them," he said.

"How dare you say her name," Zachary snarled, "you filthy bas—"

"Watch it," Mickey snapped. "They—" he pointed at the Weapons, "—do what I tell them to do." Zachary's lip curled.

"What did you do to them?"

"I didn't do anything. I just showed up and they treated me like royalty." He patted his belly with a self-satisfied smile. "I don't mind, not at all. But I do want to know where the real king is. He hasn't shown his—" He stopped and peered into Zachary's features. The king forced his face to relax, although he knew his eyes still burned. "By the gods," Mickey mumbled. Zachary was surprised at the fear in his voice. "You're the—King _Zachary_. You—" He stood in sudden panic. Zachary allowed a twitch of a smile, but then Mickey seemed to recall that he wore the crown while the 'real king' struggled before him. The blacksmith settled back onto the throne and stroked something at his neck, hauntingly reminiscent of Amilton with the black stone. Zachary caught a glimpse of blue among the man's exposed hair: the key. "That's funny," Mickey chuckled. "That really is. Is this yours?" He indicated the blue coat and laughed again. "Who'd've thought that _you _were the king. Well, it's too bad you didn't die in the fire." He fell silent for a few seconds, then decided to continue. "So you sneaked off to an island with one of your Riders, did you? Mmmm, that must have been nice. Was she as ripe an armful as she looked" He winked grotesquely.

"You took her," Zachary said simply.

"Ah—yes, yes. All the more sad you didn't burn. You could be together in death." He waited for a reaction and receiving none, frowned and shifted in his seat. "She bled to death, you know."

His mask firmly in place, Zachary merely gazed at him. The blacksmith twitched beneath that steady stare until the Black Shields suddenly threw the king against the dais steps. His forehead cracked against an edge and his vision blackened briefly. He grunted and suffered quietly, peering up at the men and women that once defended him.

"They do that, you know," Mickey said from somewhere above him. "I don't say anything out loud but they do everything I'm thinking."

Zachary lifted his head and carefully rotated his neck. He saw it then—a squat black box of some unidentifiable metal nestled in the space between the throne and the floor.

"Did they do that with you? Zachary?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" Zachary croaked.

"What's that?"

Zachary pointed at the box. "Does your cruelty give you the courage you need to toy with death?"

"If anyone's dying here, it's you. This thing? This box thing is giving me everything I want."

Zachary rested his head on the stone. "You're a fool."

Mickey scowled, but looked surprised as a large number of Black Shields suddenly left the room at a run, swords bared as they pursued some unknown threat. Zachary chuckled. "Is that something they do, as well, Mickey? Did you tell them to go?" He pushed himself on his elbow. "You have no idea what's happening, do you?"

"Shut up," Mickey snapped. He stood and paced in some agitation, then pointed at Beryl Spencer. "You. Where did they go?" She didn't look at him. He began pacing again.

"Give me the key," Zachary urged, "and the box. I can control them."

"Don't try that. You're staying down there."

Zachary's eyes narrowed, then shifted to look past the throne. "Shouldn't you have someone clean up that mess?" He gestured at the heap of bodies. Mickey stopped walking and stared at the pile with mounting distress. "But I suppose corpses don't really bother you, do they Mickey?"

Mickey turned to sneer down at him. "So you figured everything out, huh?"

"It wasn't difficult. You will be executed."

Mickey threw back his head and laughed. "Me executed? I think you're confused. See, I'm the one with the crown now. You're the one on the floor."

Zachary lifted a corner of his mouth in a smile. "You really don't understand what's happening."

"Don't. I know what you're doing." Mickey crouched and grabbed a fistful of amber hair. Yanking the king's head up, he growled, "You're one of those word-dancing aristocrats, all fluff and smiles. You're no better than me, king or not. You can't trick me." He let go and stood. With a crooked smile, he said, "And there's really no reason for you to be alive." He settled back into the throne. "So I think I'll perform my first kingly act and behead you." He waved inelegantly and three Weapons grabbed Zachary, forcing him into the stone while a fourth drew his sword. Unexpected panic bubbled up into the king's chest and he struggled against them even as cold fear numbed his limbs.

"Feels terrible, yeah? Must be how Fedir's father felt when your own papa had him killed." Mickey chuckled. "Ironic."

A flash of movement and Zachary saw Beryl Spencer racing toward him, but before she was close, everything seemed to stop. The Weapons' grips were still strong, but the executioner's sword hung suspended in the air. Beryl slowed, glancing at the Black Shields in the room.

Mickey was also confused. "What? What are you doing? I want you to kill him. Kill him—agh!" His hands flew to his head. "What—what is this—who—" He squirmed.

The restraining hands released Zachary. The Weapons straightened and turned toward Mickey. They approached him with a deliberateness that was far more terrifying than his own spluttered threats. "What are you doing?" the blacksmith shouted. "What are you doing? Him! _Him_!"

Beryl hurried to the king's side. She eased him into a sitting position, then they both watched in horrified awe as the Weapons surrounded Mickey. "No—" Zachary muttered. "No, not—not like this—this isn't—" He cut off with a groan as a sword sliced easily through the blacksmith's thick chest. His scream ricocheted around the throne room. A second sword struck, then a third, and a fourth. Mickey screamed and sobbed behind the wall of Weapons. Zachary could hear the blood bubbling in his mouth until the man finally fell silent—and still the execution continued. Metal cracked bones, cut flesh, thumped into the wooden chair. Blood poured freely onto the stone floor and pooled around black boots. Zachary ducked his head, trembling violently. When he dared to raise his eyes, the Black Shields had returned to their original posts. A bloody mass now occupied the throne, bits of it dangling from the various ornamentations of the chair. He looked away immediately, but forever in his mind blazed the booted feet that had survived the butchering, half-chopped head, the rank, yellow fat of a belly—

"Oh gods…" Nausea washed.

"Your Majesty," Beryl whispered. He flinched at her voice. "Majesty, please, we must go while they're like this."

He nodded and stood with her help. Cradling his arm against his stomach, he looked at the floor and the floor only. "The box," he whispered. "The box and the key."

"I will retrieve them."

"Thank you."

She left him and he closed his eyes. He heard the box sliding across the stone, then a few moments later the slippery squishing of wet flesh moving. "I cannot find the necklace," Beryl said. Zachary shuddered. The Rider continued to search. "Only the chain is here—" Her voice cut off. Zachary looked this time and felt the blood drain from his head. A black-banded blade skewered her. She dropped to her knees, turning to stare at the king with bulging eyes. He stared back. The Weapon retrieved his sword and reached past her into Mickey's remains. After a moment he withdrew the small, blue square and moved around Beryl to set it atop the device. He then took hold of Mickey's body and pulled it from the throne. He fixed Zachary with a flat stare.

"The usurper is dead," he said easily. "Your throne, Your Majesty."


	27. Chapter 27

…

The door burst open and the Black Shields climbed easily over the few chairs blocking the way. Mara hurled fireballs, igniting the upholstery and sending the barricade up in flames. The first attackers fell back, but more soon appeared. They climbed through with no regard to the fire and Mara flung bursts of fire directly at them. Some dropped, but a few stepped clear of the barricade and rushed at her. She held up her hands, creating a roaring wall of fire.

"That's good…" a voice murmured in passing. Mara watched, shocked, as Fastion leaped through the flames, sword bared. His silhouette twisted and lunged, deftly battling the attackers. Mara pulled her magic back, stepped around the fight, and renewed the fire, spinning it around her hands until it erupted through the doorway. "Mara!" Fastion shouted. Mara whirled and the vortex whipped around the room. Fastion shoved one assailant into its path, then ducked to spare himself. His sword flashed red as it cut through the flames to stop a soldier coming up behind her. Steam from the boiling blood marked the trail of the blade as it danced through the devouring fire. Mara was euphoric—she knew the fever still ate at her, but this elation overpowered it. The magic rushed through her entire body, pouring from a furnace deep inside of her and roaring out of her hands. Fastion's black form darted around it—he used it, worked with it. The flames coiled around his sword as though they were one and soon the attacks lessened until they were no more.

The fire vanished from her hands and she stood, panting, by Fastion's side. He looked around, then said, "The room is burning." They tore down curtains and tapestries, using untouched ones to extinguish the simmering carpet. Flaming furniture was pushed into the stone hallway and any bodies that still burned were treated likewise. Once they were finished, Fastion dropped into the only undamaged chair. Mara fell to her knees beside him.

"That worked well," the Weapon observed.

"What happened?" Mara asked once her breathing had calmed somewhat. "I thought you were controlling them."

"The king is safe," he answered. "I didn't want to stay inside of it any longer than I had to." He smiled feebly. She returned it.

"I understand. How do you feel?"

"I feel well."

"Good," she said. Their gazes lingered.

"Mara," he finally murmured. "Thank you."

She looked confused. "For what?"

"For staying with me."

She smiled. "It's not that easy to get rid of me," she said jokingly. He smiled again, then reached for her face. She jerked away and yanked dirty strands of hair over her burns. He grabbed her wrist.

"Don't do that," he said. "You always do that." He pushed her hand away. "I've seen them before. You received them when you slew the wraith." He leaned down toward her. "They should honored, not hidden."

"Oh," she said as one of his hands slid around her neck; the other curled around her arm. He shifted nearer, his lips a breath away. Her heart galloped in her chest, faster and faster as she waited for him. He continued to delay and her hands clenched and unclenched in the empty air. Finally, she grabbed his head and their faces crashed together as her mouth hunted for his. Her fingers twisted in his hair and she could feel his long, slow shudder in response to her insistence. She forced herself away. "Sorry," she whispered. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

His eyes flashed, but he pulled her head back to his. His kiss was sweet, gentle, deep, and it was her turn to shiver. "F—" was all she could utter before he seized her waist and yanked her against his cold breastplate. She gripped his legs for balance as he became hungry, demanding. His mouth swallowed hers; a stifled sound escaped her throat as he dragged her up so close that her feet left the ground. Fire rushed through her, into her hands. She smelled burning cloth. Anxiety and fright flavored her kiss. Some feral force fueled his.

She could have pulled, or he might have pushed. Abruptly the chair was abandoned and they crashed to the floor. Her head smacked the floor and his throat swallowed up her cry. Lungs crushed beneath his weight, she searched for a grip as his body twisted against hers, all lithe muscle and lethal power—and sleek armor, which jabbed deep into her flesh. The pain warred with her passion, keeping awake a quietly fearful voice that cried out against his aggression. His mouth released hers and dragged across her skin. As she struggled for air, her bleary eyes looking past him at something—the device. It hummed and winked at her with deep red glimmers. A horrible suspicion entered her mind.

"Fastion—" she gasped. He kissed her. "Fastion—is—the device—is it—"

His fingers dug into the muscles and bones of her shoulders. She screamed, but her mouth wasn't hers anymore. It wasn't even her breath. There were teeth in his kisses now and one of his hands crept up around her neck, fingers curling around her throat. The other he slipped beneath her clothing. Repulsed and desperate for air, she groped at his leg until she found a knife. She drove it into his thigh and he recoiled. Sobbing, trying to breathe through a crushed throat, she dragged herself up and stumbled away. Fire…she needed her fire— Her ankle was grabbed and she toppled to the floor. She kicked out at him and struggled to rise, but he was up before her. He hoisted her into the air and dropped her abruptly onto a table.

"Stop, Fastion," she sobbed as he crawled over her. "Please. This isn't you. It's not you." He bent down and she hurled flames at his eyes. As he clawed at his face, she rolled off the table and scrambled for the doorway. She'd burn herself to get out, but before she reached it he threw his arms around her, effectively trapping her own arms against her chest.

"Stop it," he snarled in her ear. "Don't fight me." She writhed and screamed and slammed her skull into his face. For a brief instant his hold slackened and she pulled away from him. He gripped her wrist and yanked her back, and the momentum sent them tumbling over the chair onto the floor. Her fire burst across his armor and flesh, but he disregarded it, one hand grabbing her wrists while the other worked the latches of his armor.

"Stop," she sobbed. "Please, stop."

"Your fire is in my head, Mara," he said. "It's in my body. You make me _burn_." His armor hung undone around his torso and she gripped his waist before he dropped back onto her.

"All right," she croaked. "But Fastion, I'm so sorry." Oblivious to her words, he allowed her to drag up his shirt and held himself still when she curled her hands around his powerful stomach. He leaned into her, poised, waiting for her to act. There was a stranger haunting his eyes, wearing his face. He watched her from beneath his thick lashes, he breathed into her mouth, his muscles quivered at her touch. She took a deep, trembling breath, whispered, "I'm so sorry," and summoned a powerful fire. The flames coiled around his skin and he jolted with a cry, dropped completely onto her, and his hands closed once again around her neck.

In her final attempt for freedom, she burned him. His flesh melted beneath her hands. Her flesh melted. His entire body shook, his mouth hovered over hers, his hands crushed her throat. There was blood on his lips. Her lungs screamed and tears overflowed in her eyes. Moments stretched like hours; the only sound was their sizzling skin. His forehead lowered onto hers. They stared at each other. She could see nothing in his gaze. Vision blackening, head swimming, she dug her fingers into his stomach, felt their skin melt together. His teeth clamped down on his lip, then—there. There he was. A little spark in his eyes. Fastion. That was it, then.

The fire spluttered out.

Silence weighed down on the room. His fingers pried from her neck. He lifted himself off of her and rolled onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling as agony washed over him from the blinding pain in his stomach. The silence threatened to smother him. He tipped his head and dared to look into her face. "Mara?" he whispered. She was still. He reached over and traced her face, traced her scars. "Mara, please..." Forcing himself on his hands and knees, he pushed the hair from her forehead. His vision blurred. "Mara?" His voice cracked. His bruising hands left dark stains on her neck and shoulders and blood dirtied her mouth, yet somehow she looked serene. Serene and dead. He sat on the floor with a thump, hauled her into his lap, pulled his legs around her, and buried his face in her neck. Grief shook him. Tears like none he'd ever known streamed down his face. His sobs came out in strangled chokes and whimpers, his lungs heaving with the unfamiliar sounds.

The device faded like smoke in his mind. It was done with him. He had given himself over to it and it used him. It used his deepest, most precious desire. He raised his head and screamed. His screams turned into rending sobs that tore from his chest as he wept over his Rider, his beautiful, gentle, adoring Green Rider. Mara. But she wasn't his. She never had been, and she never would be.

His hand closed over the burn on his stomach. Pain dulled his senses. Death. He wanted to die. He pulled his sword from its sheath and held the edge to his neck, but then a flash of color distracted him and he raised his glistening eyes. The device rested in the carpet, dazzling and winking. His lip curled and fiery rage infused his bones as he dropped his sword and crawled toward it. He would tear it apart with his bare hands. He would grind the glass with his heel and rend the metal into scraps. He would not stop until his hands bled from the shrapnel and the pieces were strewn across the provinces of Sacoridia.

Without hesitation or thought, he picked it up.

…

Karigan skidded around the corner. She bounded over debris in quick leaps that aggravated her injured stomach, freshly sliced by Willis's blade. Amberhill ran easily beside her, avoiding trouble much more gracefully than she. Why not? He was the Raven Mask, after all. Wasn't it he that dueled with her in the museum and remained infamous for scaling walls and infiltrating otherwise private grounds? Under any other circumstance she would be much more sympathetic to Fastion's earlier impulse, but right now, as loathe as she was to admit it, his help was indispensable. She didn't know what plans rolled through his murky mind, but he was quick with a blade and in all honesty, that was all she cared about.

They neared the throne room doors. Their swords hissed from their sheaths and with a quick glance at each other, they charged into the chamber. It only took a few strides for them to notice something was amiss and they stopped, their blades drooping. "How disappointing," Amberhill drawled. "He doesn't look at all like he's dying."

King Zachary crouched beside a Black Shield convulsing on the steps. He held his arm awkwardly at his chest and a dark bruise colored his forehead, but he was alert and very much alive. "Now that poor fellow on the other hand—" Amberhill groaned, "—is extremely dead."

Karigan saw what he spoke of: a mutilated corpse strewn at the foot of the throne. To the right of it were heaped even more bodies. Blood streaked the polished floors and Karigan and Amberhill approached the dais cautiously. They had almost reached it when the king finally noticed them.

"Karigan!" He limped down the steps and met her with an entreating hand.

"You're safe," she said with a relieved smile. "Your arm—"

"It's fine, but Rider Spencer…" He gestured to the Black Shield. Karigan looked at him in some confusion, then hurried to the woman's side.

"A Rider wearing black?" Amberhill mused aloud.

"What is she doing here? What happened?" Karigan whipped off her coat and pressed it into Beryl's back.

"She was stabbed," Zachary answered in a low voice.

"By who?"

"By one of them, I imagine," Amberhill murmured. Karigan looked up and saw the line of Black Shields hidden in the shadows. They stared back at her, their eyes dim glints in pale faces. She found herself more unnerved than usual by their unflinching gazes.

"Why?"

"Why has any of this happened?" Zachary snapped. He turned and pointed. "That."

His finger accused the strange black box resting on the throne. Karigan stood. "Then let's have done with this." The blue and black key rested beside it and she grabbed that and the device. As her fingers touched the box, however, the world around her whirled. Scenes unfolded before her eyes. She watched, shocked, as an old woman threw herself onto Jendara's sword. Then Jendara was stabbing Amilton, and then she was rushing toward the blades of a dozen Black Shields. The world spun again and Karigan witnessed the assassination of an unknown king, then a violent argument between two faceless lord-governors. She saw a queen, heavily pregnant, collapse on the dais. A Black Shield was chained and led away from a shocked young king—

"Karigan!"

The world stopped spinning and she found herself flat on her back. Zachary and Amberhill bent over her, concern written across their faces. "What happened?" she asked.

"You fell down," Amberhill answered. "Hard." He helped her to her feet.

"I touched it and it showed me…" She fell silent, unable to explain.

"Showed you what?" the king urged.

"I saw…people and scenes. Jendara…." Her eyes lit up in sudden comprehension. "Just like on the island. The things I saw—" She shrugged wordlessly. Zachary's brow knit, then he moved to the device. Picking up the discarded key, he searched the box for the lock and finding it, he slipped the blue glass into it.

"Be careful!" Karigan said. "When Mickey used it, it took him away." She paused, then added with a wave, "Let Amberhill do it." The nobleman looked at her, his expression scornful. Zachary considered for a brief moment, then he turned the key once to the left. They waited, but nothing significant happened. Licking his lips, Zachary turned it once more. His eyes widened in astonishment and he sank to his knees. "No!" Karigan rushed to grab him. He muttered an exclamation, his eyes gawking at the throne.

"F…" He blinked rapidly. "Fastion…."

"Yes, what is our Weapon doing with his new toy?" Despite his sardonic tone, Amberhill still stood ready to assist his cousin.

Zachary lurched against the throne. His fingertips dug into the cushion, squeezing blood out. "He's so strong—"

"Is he hurting you? What is he doing?"

Zachary's eyes closed. His breathing became slow and heavy. Amberhill leaned over Karigan's head. "Somehow," he said, "I don't feel like delving into this magic is the best thing for someone's mind." He then asked, "Who brought the horse in?"

Karigan looked up. Night Hawk stood in a corner, watching them. He didn't look at all pleased to be there and threw his head up and down in agitation. Leaving Zachary, Karigan walked toward the horse, careful not to spook him more than he already was. He spooked, however, and kicked the stone and tossed his head. Karigan paused, recognizing the mood, and turned. "Watch out!" she cried. Amberhill spun and barely had time to raise his sword as a blade swung down at him. Karigan raced back to the king as a second Black Shield reached the dais. Night Hawk loped past her, whinnying as he charged the Weapons. The first, caught by surprise, fell beneath iron-shod hooves. The second hesitated as she faced both Amberhill and the apparently crazed stallion. The other Black Shields stood where they were, watching the fight with vacant eyes.

"It's him," Zachary grated. "Fastion. He's trying to protect me."

"From us?" Karigan cried. She saw a third Weapon detach himself from the shadows.

"From everyone."

Karigan retreated from the king. "Amberhill, come away." The nobleman looked shocked, but at Karigan's stern glare, he sheathed his sword and hurried to join her. Night Hawk snorted and pranced about, but the Black Shields slipped quietly back into the darkness.

"At least he's safe," Amberhill observed.

"I need that other piece," Karigan replied. "I need to take it back to Fastion to put an end to all this."

"You can't even touch it."

"You can."

"No. No, I'm not going to end up like her." He gestured to Beryl. Karigan huffed, then called to Zachary, "Can you tell Fastion to stop whatever he's doing?"

"I'm—trying—" The king shook his head. "The magic is completely in his head. I can't touch it."

Amberhill looked at Karigan sidelong. "I'm eagerly awaiting one of your brilliant plans."

"Wait—" Zachary stood, holding the box in his good hand. He looked confused. "He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Fastion. He's gone."

Amberhill and Karigan exchanged anxious glances. "Something must have happened," Karigan muttered. Still keeping a safe distance between herself and Zachary, she said, "Can you come with me? Fastion has the other piece of it." Turning to Amberhill, she pointed at Beryl. "Stay with her. If she dies, I swear I will kill you myself."

"My pleasure," Amberhill drawled, bowing. Karigan instinctively went to the king's side, but quickly stopped herself with a worried glance at the Weapons. Zachary waved the box.

"I won't let them hurt you," he said. She nodded and took his arm, helping him hurry down the stained carpet. Halfway to the doors, however, a great shriek went up. All around them Black Shields fell and writhed, clawing at their heads and screaming. Zachary fell heavily against Karigan and she barely kept him from dropping. "Oh—gods—" he gasped.

"What now?" Karigan groaned, staring at the thrashing Weapons.

Zachary raised himself back up. "Fastion—we have to get to him—" He swore and stumbled forward. Karigan took his arm again and they ran into the main corridors. Guards and Black Shields had all fallen, screaming, sobbing, clutching their heads like something killed them from the inside. Blood dripped from their noses and ears and Karigan prayed harder than she had prayed in a long time. "This way," she whispered to the king, leading him toward the room.

A fire blazed in the doorway and Karigan kicked the crumbling furniture out of the way. Upon entering, all she saw was Mara prone on the ground, her stomach gruesome and bloody. "Mara!" Karigan cried, sprinting to her friend. She crashed onto her knees and checked the Rider for any signs of life. "Gods, Mara! Mara, please!" Horrific bruises stained her throat. She'd been strangled? "Mara, Mara!"

Zachary, meanwhile, limped to where Fastion sat, legs turned and splayed like a child's. His hands were white as they clutched the device, the bright lights reflected in the tears overflowing from his red-rimmed eyes. Zachary knelt before him. "Fastion?" he whispered. The Weapon made no indication of hearing him. The king set the box down and gently shook Fastion's shoulder. Again, no response.

"Put the pieces together," Karigan told him, her voice cracking and unsteady. Zachary slid the box beneath the first piece and they clicked into place.

The lights exploded, becoming so bright Karigan jerked away to protect her eyes. King Zachary lurched backwards and his screams joined those from outside the room. Fastion's eyes bulged as his back straightened. His breaths were wheezing and a vein throbbed at his temple.

Karigan crawled over Mara's body. She felt it now—felt the power of another consciousness pressing against her mind. Her brooch heated up and she felt magic buzzing through her entire body. The lights seemed to cut through her skin, curling around her bones and settling cold fear in her heart. She passed Zachary and reached for the device. Her fingers found the key. It was hot to the touch, but nothing more. She turned it—once, twice, three times in a circle before the lights began to dim. She watched in wonder as the colors fizzled and dissolved, sinking back behind the glass panels until the room plummeted into darkness broken only by the early morning sunshine filtering through the windows.

Fastion's hands released the device and he heaved for breath, his wide eyes finding Karigan's. He stared for a moment, then turned his head to look at Mara. Despair creased his features, then they went blank and he tipped and fell to the ground.


	28. Chapter 28

…

She arrived in much better circumstances than before. The sun was shining this time and no one was dying—here, at least. She closed her eyes for just a moment and breathed the air heavy with memories. Then, with a smile, she dismounted and led her horse toward the big house that had served as her home for such a brief, but sweet time. She reached into one open saddlebag and pulled out her jittery companion for the past few weeks, then swung a second bag over her shoulder. Leaving Condor in the yard, she went up the steps and knocked. A moment passed, then the door swung open and she was greeted by a round, pleasant countenance and surprised, dark eyes. Another moment passed, then Rena let out a shriek and threw her significant weight against Karigan as she embraced her.

"You left!" the woman cried. "You left and I do not see you and I do not know where you go! Do not do that! Do not!"

Karigan pulled away with a smile. "I'm happy to see you too, Rena."

Rena bent to pat the trembling bundle in Karigan's arm, craned her neck to look past her. "Where's my Zachy?"

"He was unable to come, and sends his apologies." Karigan battled back a surge of sudden tears as memories of a different sort came over her. "He is very busy."

"Well, come, come! I fetch others! They all worry and worry." She ushered Karigan into the familiar room, then snatched her shawl from a hook on the wall. "I be back. You stay here."

"I can go—" But Rena was already gone. Karigan sat for a short time, petting her new friend, then driven by impatience and nostalgia, she wandered through the house, reacquainting herself with the familiar rooms and furniture. Nothing had changed. She was lingering in the doorway of the kitchen when the door reopened and many familiar faces burst in.

"Karigan!" a childish voice shrieked. Emmi raced toward her, then halted as her eyes fell on the furry ball the Rider held.

"Zachary couldn't come," Karigan explained, crouching. "But he sent you presents." She held out the wriggling gift. Emmi gaped, then tentatively reached one small hand out to the eagerly sniffing nose that stretched toward her. "A real Hillander terrier," Karigan murmured, setting the puppy on the floor. He immediately tripped and fell his way to Emmi, sniffing her legs and hands, yipping excitedly. A huge grin broke out across the girl's face and she gathered the terrier up in her arms. "And this is very special…" Karigan opened her saddlebag and withdrew the second present. Emmi's eyes bulged and she reached out for it. "This is for you from the Black Shields themselves."

Emmi's hand couldn't reach all the way around the wooden practice sword, but she didn't seem to mind as her eyes drank in the crest carved into the hilt and the black ribbon tied at the base of the 'blade.' Karigan swallowed back tears as she looked at that ribbon. "It belonged to one of my closest friends," she explained, hardly able to keep her voice controlled. "He said to give it to you because he thinks you'll be an even greater Weapon than he was." She closed her eyes against the memory of Fastion seated on the floor of Mara's room, refusing food, refusing drink, refusing sleep, refusing anything resembling comfort—punishing himself and hovering on the edge of death. She shook her head briskly to clear it.

Emmi held the sword precariously in the air with both hands. "I'm going to be the greatest Black Weapon ever!" She looked down at the ecstatic puppy. "Come on, Terrier. We're going to protect the king!" Her mother blocked the doorway, so she bounced around the large front room, dragging the sword behind her and giggling gleefully as the terrier tried his best to jump on her legs.

Karigan stood and smiled warmly at Fedir and Marli. She hugged each of them in turn, then pulled a letter from her saddlebag and handed it to Fedir. "Written in the king's own hand."

Fedir exchanged an apprehensive glance with his wife as he broke the seal and unfolded the paper. They read quickly, shock coming clearly onto their faces. They looked at her for explanation and she said with a smile, "King Zachary was most impressed with your handiwork. Will you accept his invitation?"

"Uh—yes. Yes! King Zachary…?" He cut off with a loud guffaw. "Breyan's gold!"

Karigan nodded at Marli. "Your mending abilities will be greatly appreciated at the castle. Our Master Mender—" She cleared her throat. "There is an opening available and in all honesty, we need all the help we can get."

"Of course."

Karigan turned away from the woman's perceptive gaze. AnnElyse hid safely behind Rena, but stepped forward when the Rider looked at her. "Mickey?" she inquired, anxiety etched into her features. Karigan shook her head and AnnElyse nodded, quickly moving off to calm her wild daughter.

"Are you staying longer?" Rena asked, coming to stand beside Fedir and Marli.

"I'm afraid I can't. I have other messages to deliver, as well as a long-postponed visit to my home." She didn't mention the Eletians who had shown up at the castle, drawn by the magic and bearing tidings of an expedition, which was the real reason Karigan couldn't linger. They had appeared like angels, and despite their obvious contempt of the situation, they had helped willingly, their techniques saving many who would have otherwise perished. Again, Karigan saw Mara's room and the wilting figure occupying the bed. She bowed swiftly to hide her expression. "I must go."

"Now?"

"I am to return as quickly as I can to the castle." After a pause, she embraced her friends once again, murmuring to Fedir and Marli, "I will see you soon." She lingered with Rena, her own sadness banished by laughter as the woman sobbed helplessly into her shoulder.

"You come again, yes?"

"Yes, of course." She pulled away and took up her saddlebag. "Thank you for everything." She pushed through to the outside. The others followed her, Marli coming all the way to Condor's side.

"Karigan…" she murmured. "My family's device?"

Karigan busied herself with the saddle. "It has been taken care of." One piece rested at the base of the ocean, dropped off the side of the ship that carried her to the island. Only she and Zachary knew where it was, and only Zachary and Ty knew where the other part hid.

"I see." Marli watched her. "Karigan…" she repeated. "You and Zachary—the king?"

Karigan's hands gripped the saddlehorn. That was something forbidden to speak of. Everything was so different now. Estora had gone missing in the chaos and her father killed. Amberhill had also disappeared, though he had kept Beryl alive, as he had promised. The Black Shields, the people of Sacor City, the lord-governors who were now being summoned….

She looked at Marli. "I don't know," she said simply, then mounted. She smiled at the small group. "Until next time."

"Wait!" Emmi reached her arms up to her mother, who carried her to Karigan's side. The girl fished something out of her pants and held it out to Karigan. "You left these behind before. I could only carry one. This was my favorite."

A seashell rested in her palm. Karigan half-laughed, half-cried as she took it. "Thank you." Emmi was lowered to the ground. Karigan waved, then paused as the sparkling ocean and the soft, white beach caught her eye. Everything was so different now. With a wistful smile, she turned her horse and urged him back toward the bay.

…


End file.
